Trengsel
by darthxerik
Summary: Loki doesn't remember killing Odin. His worst fears are realized when he discovers that he has been marked with a curse. He seeks the assistance of an old apprentice—the Enchantress—knowing that revealing himself to Thor would be suicide. Sequel to Thor: The Dark World, featuring all Thor characters and several other Marvel Universe characters. Eventual romance. Angst/Redemption.
1. For Him

_For my cousin Maddie. This story is yours._

_A huge thank you to Mr. Tom Hiddleston, the one who brought Loki's character to life, and the _only_ Loki in my book._

__And sincerest thanks to _A.__, the friend who _sparked the flame of storytelling in me, ____and helped me shape this story_____... _I shall never forget you. __

_This is my first full-length fanfiction, and my grand opus to Loki. I cannot wait to hear from you, my dear readers!_

_Enjoy the ride._

VVV

_TRENGSEL_

_by Hannah Sophia, DarthxErik_

_CHAPTER ONE  
_

_"FOR HIM"_

_VVV_

_"I don't think anyone,_

_until their soul leaves their body,_

_is past the point of no return."_

_\- Tom Hiddleston_

_VVV_

"I didn't do it for him."

The words had just escaped Loki's graying lips. His body lay calm and motionless in Thor's arms.

Thor trembled, pain shooting up his limbs as he struggled to support his brother's head.

Then the icy hand that lingered about the outside of Thor's arm fell, and landed soundlessly in Loki's lap.

Thor stopped breathing as Loki's pale features turned darker, as ash spread through his brother's veins like poison. Loki's stained complexion only seemed to intensify the bright hue of his eyes...

They shone brilliantly and unmistakably _green_. Their earnest, mistful gaze shot straight up into Thor's heart. They locked on each others' eyes until the very last possible moment.

Then, with conviction, those emerald eyes shut themselves forever.

And Thor felt Loki's body let go.

The world stopped. And a violent tremor coursed through Thor's entire body.

"NOO!" he bellowed-his face twisting painfully. He slumped forward, choking on tears.

Thunder rumbled high above, the storm of Thor's heart taking on physical form.

Soon an enormous hurricane of ash and dust filled the sky, sweeping across the wasteland of Svartalfheim. Approaching.

Thor did not move at all until he felt Jane's tender hand rest on his shoulder, and even then, he felt no strength in him to stand.

She couldn't understand, Thor thought.

Thor's brother... his little brother, whom he had known for a thousand years... was gone.

VVV

_"I didn't do it for him."_

Loki's spirit, as in a dream, was all bound up.

_"I didn't do it for him..."_

The words pulsed through Loki's being...

Then his mind gasped.

He felt warm, all over...

Light.

Loki's mind frowned.

Light_headed_.

He felt dizzy, disoriented... feeling like he'd been spun in a million directions, and was just starting to regain balance, and awareness. He couldn't tell which way was up... or down... every sense distorted.

His eyes were closed, but opening them would hardly make a difference. He sensed nothing but pitch black surrounding him.

He breathed in... deeply.

The sensation filled him.

A strange sense of peace, overwhelming him. He would've been perfectly content if he could remain in this sleep-like state forever...

But then he felt something.

Something tangible.

Something, he realized, that he was holding in his right hand. His fingers curled gently around it.

His mind couldn't quite place it. It was hard like metal... cylinder-shaped... and smooth.

Like a pole, or a spear...

Familiar in his hand.

It was the only thing that felt real in the midst of this present fog.

His being gasped, his fingers tightening around the spear... a sudden panic filling his heart with dread.

He knew suddenly that if he allowed himself to slip... if he let go of the spear... he would be lost forever...

But the abyss around him began to change. Pitch black brightened into a maroon shade.

His eyes opened, staring wide, but everything remained veiled in shadow.

But his feet came to rest on solid ground. It felt hard, like stone beneath his riding boots.

Then he became aware of the rest of his body. He commanded the fingers of his left hand to flex, and they torpidly obeyed. He felt his armor in place, leather coattails dangling at his ankles.

Maroon vision turned red. Then a glowing, golden-brown. He saw everything in large, filtered shapes. The growing light made him squint.

He directed his focus somewhere to his right... hoping that if he squinted long enough, he could make out the object in his right hand.

The weapon began materializing, enough to where he could make out its form. The rest of his vision remained out of focus.

It was, indeed, Odin's spear... Gungnir.

Loki studied it up and down, frowning.

Narrowing his eyes, he noticed that something dark, like rust, covered its tip. Which he had never seen on it before.

Loki drew in a breath through his nostrils... the scent forced him to shut his eyes.

Asgard.

He was in Asgard.

He knew because he could smell the salt of the sea... he could almost hear the gulls crying... and waves crashing from afar. The aroma brought many memories.

He sighed. The smell always seemed most powerful after having been off on a year-long quest, finally returning home...

When he opened his eyes again, his surroundings were no longer veiled in fog.

He stood in the great hall of Asgard. In front of him, he could make out a row of columns, inlaid with weaving, snakelike patterns. Symbols he had memorized since childhood.

As his sight moved ahead, where the entrance to the hall flooded with daylight, Loki realized that a good majority of the columns were not in their rightful place.

They lay in ruins.

He could still hear the way his prison ceiling crumbled. How Asgard's foundations quaked, presumably at the very moment the Dark Elves flew one of their ugly ships into the great hall. That was the day he had lost his mother. Just hours ago.

Loki felt his heart catch in his throat, fresh pain filling him...

But it occurred to Loki that the pain wasn't the crippling... not like the pain he had experienced on Svartalfheim. A gaping, bleeding hole through his chest that paralyzed him with agony...

Loki no longer felt that pain.

If he really was dead, he reasoned... he might be experiencing a vision of some kind. That would surely explain what he was seeing. While passing through death, people were known to see all sorts of impossible things.

Perhaps he was being granted one last, momentary glimpse into the life he had.

Loki carefully surveyed the throne room now that his vision was nearly clear. The last time he had been in the great hall was when he was brought before Odin. That was also the last time he had seen his mother... that is, not through an illusion.

Past the steps below him, Loki stared upon the spot where he had stood in chains, nearly a year ago. Illustrious triangles were carved into the floor, their forms weaving together into the symbol of the Three-in-One. It was widely regarded as the royal seal of Odin. Yet it also held some kind of ancient mystery... Having to do with the origins of the universe.

Yet another symbol Loki had memorized from youth.

The throne, now laying in ruin, was situated just behind Loki. He turned over his left shoulder, still holding Gungnir in his right hand.

As he rotated, his left boot bumped something on the floor, behind him.

Loki halted, looking down.

There lay a man on his side, facing away from Loki. He wore the best quality of Asgardian armor, and on the shoulders he wore broad, golden plates. Round discs adorned his collar, from which hung a crimson cape, obscuring the rest of his form.

Loki's limbs froze as he noted the man's silvery hair, falling past his shoulders in braided waves. His eyes widened.

It was Odin.

Loki withdrew half a step, instinctively.

CLANG!

Odin's spear met the ground, the sound of the impact ringing through the stone hall. But Loki didn't glance down.

Loki's eyebrows twitched together.

This sight felt familiar.

_Is this the Odinsleep?_

Loki stood, absolutely alone in the throne room, above Asgard's king... who lay at his feet... Asgard's king who didn't even appear to be breathing.

Reality slapped Loki in the face.

He got to his knees, falling next to Odin, hands twitching, uncertain of what to do, but certain that he had to do something.

Overcoming his hesitation, Loki reached out. He took a hold of Odin's shoulders.

He grimaced as he pulled, turning him over to face the ceiling.

The All-Father's face was one he recognized immediately. It filled his earliest memories.

A golden eyepatch covered the All-Father's blind eye. His soft, white beard contrasted with the hard lines in his forehead, giving him an ever-present look of sternness. Yet, Loki recalled catching glimpses of genuine affection in that old, blue eye of his... hardly ever directed at him.

Loki watched Odin's mouth, looking for signs of breath. But every muscle in Odin's face stayed absolutely still.

Loki licked his lips, eyebrows drawing upward.

"Odin," he whispered carefully.

He waited. The silence dragged on.

He reached out with his right hand.

It shrunk back, hesitating several times before it finally landed upon Odin's weathered hand. He tried again:

"Father."

Odin's skin felt warm underneath Loki's palm. But then again, Loki's hands would always be considerably colder, by comparison.

Loki glanced at Odin's chest. It didn't rise, or fall, as it should.

Gripping Odin's hand tightly, he shook it.

"Wake up," Loki urged, "Wake up, Father..."

It drew no response.

Loki tore away, kneeling backward, on his heels. His palms trembled, filling with sweat.

He glanced off, to one side... eyes watering, unseeing.

_This is a deep sleep, indeed._

Loki's pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, to clear the fog. When he pulled his hand away, he saw blood.

Blood.

It ran down, along his fingertips.

He stared blankly at the disturbing sight.

Before he could think too much on it, he wiped his hand briskly on the side of his pants.

Quickly adjusting his kneeling position, he leaned forward and began to inspect his father's body closely, looking for a wound...

There it was. Like the blood shining in his hand, a red liquid coat on Odin's breastplate.

Then he saw a deep hole at the center of Odin's chest. Fresh blood still oozed from it.

Loki's vision blackened in and out.

A thousand scenarios filled his mind.

This could be a vision, he thought. Before entering Valhalla's gates, people saw things... Yet he knew whatever test this was, it was still vital to pass through it.

But he had no time for speculation. He had to work fast, if he wanted to save Odin.

Loki thrust both hands forward, palms facing down. They hovered just above Odin's chest. He waved them horizontally, in slow circles, assessing what wasn't immediately visible.

He shut his eyes. Focusing deeply, he tried sensing Odin's lifeforce. There was a good possibility that Odin's tendrils of magic were already at work, healing his body from the inside out.

It was like knocking on a dozen bolted doors... and Loki alone held the key. He navigated his mind through each unseen dimension, mind searching for traces of magic.

Seconds passed... Loki felt the time crawl.

His heart began to sink. No golden strings, no tendrils of magic appeared in his mind's eye.

Odin's life force was undetectable, or vanished.

Loki sighed harshly, wiping sweat and blood on his pants again.

His mind raced. If Odin's tendrils were no longer present... it would be pointless for him to use his own magic strings to tie him up. Even if he could conjure up a healing stone, it wouldn't help his father in the state that he was in.

At this point, most healers would've declared their king dead.

But Loki knew he hadn't tried one thing yet.

He placed his right palm on Odin's chest; his left on his father's forehead. Leaning all of his weight into his arms, Loki pressed with his magic.

A flaring green light emanated from Loki's palms, blasting life-force directly into Odin's body.

Loki pumped his own magic into Odin's veins. He had already saved several Aesir in the past using this powerful healing method. But it always demanded a heavy price. It had the dangers of draining Loki of all his magic, to the point of death, if he stayed connected for too long.

But if Loki could hang on... just long enough... Odin's magic might be able kick in, and he wouldn't have to risk death. And Loki had nothing to lose if he was already dead.

His eyes screwed shut and his head lowered, Loki's body bent over Odin's. Green light continued to blaze. He grunted, exhausted, as he continued to drain his power...

"Gah—!" he gasped, breaking from the spell with a jolting force.

His heart pound violently, and his hands were numb.

Odin's body sizzled with energy, but his eye still remained shut.

And Loki was spent. His eyes stung sharply, on the verge of tears. He, on the verge of collapse. His hands curled in his lap, surrendering open. He stared at the ceiling, lost, forcing himself to breathe.

But he was ready to try again.

With a quick inhalation, Loki readied himself. This time he placed both his hands on Odin's heart.

Green light blinded him. He ducked his head, pushing as hard as he could, pulsing as much magic as he could conjure. It shot through his arms like bolts of lightning, straight into Odin's chest. Green lifeforce left Loki in waves, each one depleting his strength faster than before.

Loki's lowered head shook back and forth... a sob breaking past his throat.

"Please— you _must_ wake up!"

But Loki's hands burned too hot, and the magic thrummed too loud in his head.

His spell burst with a loud crack, ending itself.

The force of the blast threw Loki off his knees.

He landed on the floor, knocked nearly unconscious... arms sprawled to one side.

His eyelashes fluttered open. Broken pillars spun above him, coming in and out of focus.

_"I could have done it, Father! I could have done it..."  
_

Loki glanced sideways. Odin's spear lay directly across from him... its golden surface polished brilliantly, all the way up to the blade. But at its tip, where Loki had seen rust... he now saw clearly as a fresh coat of blood.

His stomach lurched.

Regaining an ounce of strength, he sat up to a kneeling position, and reached for the spear.

He swallowed, holding Gungnir with both hands close to his face.

The blood on his left hand had matched the blood on Odin's breastplate. And now there was blood on the spear, the one in his hand...

Various explanations slammed into Loki's mind. But only one of them grew and grew until it consumed his mind with certainty and dread.

Loki shook his head once, mouthing a word of denial.

But how could he have done it... if he couldn't remember doing it?

Words he did not wish to conjure up, echoed through his mind:

_"All I ever wanted was you and Odin... dead at my feet!"_

"No," he uttered, as a single tear escaped his eye, rolling down his cheek.

That next instant, Loki heard voices echoing.

Footsteps.

Turning up sharply, he glared in the direction of the sound's source. His senses sharpened, heart pounding wildly.

His left hand pushed off the ground. His right arm trembled, taking hold of the spear for support. He could hardly stand, much less run.

Several men approached from beyond the pillars, behind. He had less than ten seconds.

Mind racing, he knew what this scene looked like.

Asgard's traitor, broken out of prison... who by all accounts should've been dead, in saving Thor on Svartalfheim... now stood over the kin'gs body, red-handed with Odin's blood, holding the lethal weapon.

The weapon that his hand held, before he had even awakened.

Why couldn't he remember?

If only he could make it all disappear...

Swallowing hard, Loki forced himself to take even breaths.

He could hear the guards twelve paces away. Loki knew he had made his presence known. They were surely hoping to speak to Odin.

Turning to his bloodied hands, he knew whose hands Gunghir belonged to. And they were not his hands.

He knew what to do.

His mind flipped a switch, and soon a green flash ran from his fingertips up his arm, transforming Loki's hand to that of Odin's. The spell spread through the rest of Loki's body, and in a matter of seconds, Loki appeared like Odin.

Then, with the sharp twist of his left hand, the real Odin disappeared from the floor.

VVV

_To be continued!_  
_Please review, and subscribe! I can't _wait_ to hear what you think. :)_


	2. The Rune Mark

_Thank you for all your reviews and shares! I enjoyed every single one of them-they really encourage me to continue._

_Without further ado...Chapter Two!_

VVV

_CHAPTER TWO_

_"THE RUNE MARK"_

_VVV_

_"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,_

_Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,_

_Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,_

_With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine"_

_\- William Shakespeare, _A Midsummer Night's Dream

_VVV_

Three Einherjar halted as they reached the base of the steps that led up to Asgard's desolated throne. They hit their right fists against their breastplates, saluting the king, bowing their heads.

Odin was turned away at an angle. He spun forward, facing them, his body tipping unsteadily to one side as he did. He gripped his spear, planted into the floor, regaining his balance. He widened his stance and lifted his chin.

The Einherjar in center was distinctly older: his beard was a silvery-brown and he wore no helmet. He had a silver left arm, the Jotunheim War having claimed it. He was General Tyr, a cousin of Odin.

"My King, the gatekeeper has finally given us some news."

Odin's mouth parted, as if ready to speak. But he just inhaled, waiting in silence.

The general stepped forward, speaking again.

"He managed to catch a momentary glimpse through the cloaking spell... A spell, that he suspects, was cast by Loki..."

Odin's eye widened, darting from one guard to the other. He took an imperceptible step back, fingers curling tight around Gungnir.

"But it was only temporary. Still, Heimdall was at least capable of locating Thor's whereabouts at the time. He was last seen on the Dark World, before the cloaking spell hid him again from Heimdall's sight."

Odin's shoulders dropped, his head lowering steadily.

"Thor," he breathed.

"Yes," Tyr affirmed, "And with him, the mortal, Jane."

Odin stared onto the ground, unseeing and silent.

Then he eased his chin forward. Jaw slackening.

He inhaled sharply. His shoulders shifted backward, in place, and his left hand clenched tight into a fist.

His head snapped up, eye narrowing into a tiny slit that bore onto the general, unblinking. His frame solidified with resolve.

"When did Heimdall speak?" Odin demanded icily.

"Under an hour ago," Tyr replied, "We waited for more, but he insisted he could not see after the cloaking spell resumed."

Odin's hand slid down on Gungnir, gaze flickering away from Tyr. "They are no longer on Svartalfheim?"

The general shook his head. "No, my Lord. Heimdall saw them entering a cave on the Dark World, fleeing a storm. There must have been a battle with Malekith beforehand, for Heimdall could sense that the mortal was free of the Aether, and that Thor was wounded... Loki was not seen with them... And when they wandered deep into the cave, Heimdall saw them vanish... Perhaps by a portal caused by the Convergence. And that is as much as he... chose to report."

Odin frowned. "Does he know where they went?"

"Unfortunately, no," Tyr paused in thought, "Although he said it is likely they crossed over into one of the nine realms: Midgard, Vanaheim, Nornheim..."

"Asgard," Odin added.

"Possibly... Though they have not yet made themselves known to us."

Odin's eye wandered, distant. He nodded slightly. Perhaps to himself.

Another Einherjar spoke up.

"My Lord... Heimdall suspects that, as the convergence reaches its peak, Malekith may reappear to unleash the aether upon the nine realms. But until he reveals himself, there is little we can do to anticipate him, either."

Odin's lips thinned into a straight line, his jaw muscles flexing.

Silence reigned, until Tyr chose to speak again.

"We are not in any position to divide Asgard's attention into two places. My King, I suggest that we focus on maintaining Asgard's defenses, should the Dark Elves return to attack."

The Einherjar that had not yet spoken lifted his head.

"Does our Lord wish to continue searching for Thor, the mortal, and the prisoner?"

Odin's frown deepened, his eye momentary flashing with intensity.

He inhaled. Then his left arm lifted, extending Gungnir. Its base landed on the floor with a resounding thud.

He made a nod, exhaling evenly, "Go."

The Einherjar straightened.

Odin pointed at one of them. "Ensure that the palace shield is restored."

"Yes sir," the guard replied, tipping his head.

Odin pointed to the other guard at Tyr's right. "I need men watching the skies. Put men near the outer posts to defend the city gates, and have the rest ready themselves for Bifrost-travel, but wait for my word. There will be no traveling by Bifrost until I command it. Understood?"

"Certainly, my Lord," the guard responded.

Odin's eye narrowed again, turning back to Tyr.

"Now..." Odin rumbled, "How long do we have before the convergence reaches its peak?"

Tyr canted his head. "Heimdall surmised it would only be a matter of hours. A day at most."

"I see," Odin responded.

His head turned to one side, right shoulder twitching upwards before lowering.

He cleared his throat before speaking in a low rumble. "Order Heimdall to focus all his attention on the elves and the fugitives... I do not wish to be disturbed, unless you bring me news of them... or of Thor."

Tyr bowed his head. "It will be done."

The Einherjar all bowed. Then they marched out in single file, their armor clanking heavily, the sound growing distant in Odin's ears.

He waited until there was absolute silence.

Then he releasing a long, labored breath, pressing his eyes shut.

His right arm relaxed, allowing Gungnir to swing gently at his side. His left hand remained closed in a tight fist.

But a sudden chill shot through his spine, the tremor forcing his shoulders to hitch up.

With his feet plastered on the ground, Loki located the chill... It was piercing, like a winter breeze stinging the skin of his neck that was hardly exposed beneath the high nape of his tunic.

There was no wind in the hall... but the air around Loki shifted strangely, his sixth sense telling him that he was not completely alone... that he was being watched.

He suddenly became paralyzed. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes.

Instead, he screwed them tighter.

And then, he heard it...

...A whisper, touching his ear... making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

Then a sustained, low-pitched snarl...

Like a looming beast, exhaling directly into his right ear.

His right shoulder flinched up. He could _feel_ the cool breeze from before, twisting into burning hot vapor... a wet mist hitting the right side of his neck.

Loki gasped sharply, his eyes snapping open.

He spun round breathlessly, but the air around him was empty.

Loki stood completely alone. His ragged breaths were the only sound that bounced off the endless pillars... echoing throughout the great hall, returning to him like the sound of a thousand breathless soldiers... until every single gasp dissipated into silence, absorbed by the enormous space of the ancient hall beyond.

VVV

Jane's microwave beeped from the other side of the flat, breaking her concentration.

She leaned over the circular dining room table, holding her bulky anomaly-detector in both hands, staring patiently at the screen, waiting for the image to change, light up... do anything. But it remained unresponsive.

She set the device down on the table, taking a fistful of her hair and releasing an exasperated sigh.

She had just finished taping Selvig's land-spikes together, using simple Duct Tape. Wasn't fancy like the black tape she might've used if she had time to run to the store... but it did the trick. Now she was only trying to get them to synch up with her anomaly device. She had just spent the last two hours reprograming it. She still couldn't get a signal. She tried everything, knowing she should be able to get them to work.

There was actually no way of knowing if they would really work, not until they could test them on-site. But in theory... Erik's land spikes would take advantage of certain "hot-spots"... wormhole-like connections in the air brought about by the convergence... and redirecting them toward the areas surrounding the spikes. A crazy plan, but Jane had double-checked all her equations, and it was entirely possible. If... her machinery would work the way it was supposed to.

Jane had built and re-purposed plenty of scientific equipment in the past. But saving the universe from an army of evil elves had never been a part of her experience.

_"No pressure"... as Darcy would say._

All things considered, she wasn't doing too shabby at two in the morning... considering she had just returned from the other side of the universe after experiencing the horror of having a dark substance living inside of her. At least she was thinking clearly again.

She turned to her left, reading the numbers on one of Selvig's devices. The time on the countdown was T-minus 6 hours and thirty-three minutes.

While Thor and her had been gone, Erik had worked hard to calculate exactly when the convergence would reach its peak. She had to have their equipment ready before then. And even if she got it all done, she wasn't too sure that three hours of sleep would really make a difference, if she could sleep at all. The events of the last day were still swimming in her head. She might as well just plan on pulling an all-nighter, a practice she was all too familiar with... all those years of sleepless nights, on the road to getting her PhD.

She rested her chin on her hand, glaring at the anomaly-detector that still lay unresponsive.

She was tempted to slam it against the table... which actually did the trick, sometimes. But she didn't want to risk waking anybody up.

Darcy's intern was sleeping on one of the sofas near the fireplace. Erik also fell asleep, just an hour or two ago on the other couch, on the other side of the flat. Jane had allowed Darcy to sleep in her own bed, reassuring her that she would also get some sleep as soon as she was finished.

The microwave beeped at her again. She wanted to ignore it, like she'd had done for the past half-hour. But then the thought of a short break from her technical trouble actually sounded really appealing.

Jane stood to her feet that carried her across the tile floor, around the kitchen island, towards the microwave. She opened it, and reached for the porcelain mug inside, confirming that it was now room-temperature.

She sighed, shut the microwave door and punched in another minute and thirty-five seconds... Pressed "start." She decided to wait standing, so she wouldn't forget about it this time. This was probably the third time she was reheating the same cup of tea.

Jane leaned her back against the counter, crossing her arms and facing out toward the rest of the flat. She blinked away the drowsiness that crept over her eyelids and glanced over to her right... past the kitchen, through the small, square window that revealed the sunroom outside.

Jane had seen Thor wander out towards the patio while she was working. He stood there on the balcony's edge, without moving for at least an hour... gazing out towards the city at night, his cape the only thing in motion, flapping in the gentle breeze.

She didn't mean to block him out of her mind while she typed away at her computer desk, but her work demanded all her attention. She hadn't noticed when he had moved into the adjoining sunroom, but when she looked up from her desk and saw him sitting in her wicker bench, she hoped it meant he was trying to get some sleep.

She doubted he actually did. Presently, he sat on the edge of the bench, leaning forward, very much awake.

If she couldn't sleep herself, she couldn't blame him. Not after what happened on Svartalfheim.

Beep. Beep. Beeeep!

Jane reached for the microwave door, unlatching it and removing her mug full of hot, green tea. Cupping it in both her hands, she tipped the cup towards her lips, steam filling her nostrils.

She sipped, warm liquid soothing her throat... the taste reminding her of her parents, when they were all still together...

She took another sip, glancing at the sunroom again. Her eyebrows drew close together, her fingertips tapping against her mug, the silence of the apartment suddenly making her uneasy.

Her bright red, rubber boots made tiny squeaks as she made her way to the doorway that opened up to her patio. She unlatched it and stepped outside.

She breathed in the cool night air, the sound of the city traffic filling her ears. London never slept. It glowed bright at night, hiding most of the stars from sight.

Jane heard the crunching of leaves under her red, rubber boots as she neared the rows of flowerpots filling her balcony ahead. They could definitely use more watering. The vines covering the brick walls and the roof were a bit dry, too.

Past the flower vases, on the other side of a telescope that stood, unused... sat Thor on the wicker bench. His body faced her, his size overwhelming the humble sitting area. His arms covered in armor gleamed silver in the moonlight, and he sat on his red cape, leaning forward. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands cupping themselves in a fist in front of him.

Two streaks of dried blood marred his forehead. Jane realized he hadn't washed them off after arriving from Svartalfheim.

He drew in a breath, straightening. His bright, blue eyes lifted, seeing her.

"Jane," he smiled kindly.

"Hi," Jane replied.

"Are you having success?"

"Well..." Jane sighed, stepping toward him, "I decided to take a break. I probably should've taken one earlier."

Thor's eyes followed her as she stepped toward the telescope that stood between them. She stopped there, reaching out and touching it with her hand, surprised when she pulled away her fingers and saw them covered in dust.

"Back in New Mexico... I could study the sky for hours. Far away from the city lights, I had a really clear view of the stars, even without a telescope."

Jane rubbed the dust between her fingers, smiling sadly.

"Unfortunately, it was harder to see the stars when I moved to London. So, after a while... I guess I gave up trying."

Thor shifted, resting his forearms on his knees. Jane wiped her dusty fingers on the sides of her pants, holding her cup again with both hands. She almost brought the cup to her lips, but then she stopped.

"Wait... I don't think I ever offered you anything to drink! Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. Did you— Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?"

Thor's mouth parted an inch... but he shook his head, smiling politely. "No, I am fine... thank you, Jane."

She frowned. "Are you sure? Not even a glass of water?"

Thor canted his head to the right, and nodded. "Water would be welcomed."

"Great! I'll go get it..."

Jane hurried back to the kitchen, reaching for a cup in the cupboard above the stove. She chose a short cup made out of glass and went to the fridge, filling it up with cold water.

She now carried two cups full of liquid, careful not to spill either of them as she used her elbow to open the door to the patio. She lifted her eyes and saw Thor, now standing... his cape like a giant red curtain hiding his form, which faced the left side of the balcony overrun with flowerpots.

She could hear leaves rustling as he held his hands out in front of him. He was playing with her plants... or re-arranging them.

Which was totally OK with her. It was just totally unexpected.

She got closer, peeking around his right shoulder. His head remained forward and he _was_ playing with a vine leaf, absolutely focused.

She cleared her throat feebly, hoping Thor might give a sign that he was aware of her presence.

But he didn't. He just kept playing with her vines...

"Hey, um," she tried, clearing her throat again, "I got you your water..."

He nodded, without turning or speaking.

"Ok... I'll just, uh..." Jane trailed off, glancing around. Crossing over to the sunroom, she set the glass of water down on the coffee table. She took another small gulp of her tea, and set it down next to the glass.

Returning to the patio, she approached him from the other side. "So... what're you doing?"

Thor's left hand hung loosely at his side, close to Jane. His other hand ran along the wall, swishing vine branches.

"I admire your garden," he said plainly.

Jane suppressed a laugh. "Well... I'm sure you're used to better. The gardens on Asgard that I saw totally blow mine out of the water..."

Thor finally turned his head... he showed her a smile.

But the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Jane decided to step just a bit closer, just to see what he was really up to.

Between his fingers he held a vine branch, and before Jane could stop him, he yanked. The branch snapped, and out he pulled a leafy bundle in his hand...

Peeking past his shoulder, Jane saw a small cluster of flowers in his palm. They were a beautiful cream color... long and elegant in shape, with delicate, swirling stamens. Near each leafy base, there grew little buds, their bright pink hue contrasting beautifully with the yellow-white petals.

Thor opened his palm further, so that Jane could see.

"We have these flowers on Asgard," Thor said, voice quieting. "My mother... she grew these in her garden, outside her window. And she often taught us how each flower has an assigned meaning, like a secret language."

"Hmm... We have something like that, too... I read a book about it once. I thought it was just an English, Victorian trend..."

Jane's eyes glanced up at the vines above her head, sighing melodically. "I planted these vines without knowing that they would flower... it was a surprise when they bloomed last year. That was when Erik came to stay, after New York... and he told me that they were a northern flower, native in the place where he grew up... They're called 'honeysuckles.'"

"'Honeysuckle'..." Thor mused, "On Asgard we call them differently. We call them 'woodbine.'"

He tilted his head toward Jane... a genuine smile spreading across his features.

"...but I would venture to say that your people came up with the prettier name."

"You think...?" Jane chuckled, "Well... I think 'woodbine' sounds far more interesting. Makes me think of old, medieval castles... It's very poetic... something Shakespeare might've used."

"Doth... Mother know you weareth her drapes."

Thor spoke it in a tone of absolute seriousness.

"What...?" Jane laughed.

"The man of iron said it," Thor clarified, "Though I failed to comprehend why he would compare my affairs with the works of a playwright from centuries past—"

"Wait," Jane gawked, "You know about Shakespeare?"

"He is one of the great Midgardian authors... Is he not?"

"Well, yes!... But how do _you_ know about him?"

"His work can be found in our archives, I know not how it was obtained... But my mother ever insisted that we acquaint ourselves with the best literature the nine realms has to offer."

Thor's golden brow drew up, knotting. Fixing his gaze on the flowers in his hand, his shoulders sank as he heaved a heavy sigh.

"I did not dedicate myself to the practice of reading as much as others I knew did. Perhaps that is why I did not understand his reference."

Jane smirked. She looked down at the ground, kicking her foot forward, putting her hands into her pockets. "Well... I think that's just crazy."

Thor looked at her.

"Good crazy... or bad crazy...?"

Jane shook her head with a smile. "_Good_ crazy. Like the fact that both our worlds know about the same kinds of flowers!... and both have access to Shakespeare!" She swallowed, pausing in thought, shrugging. "I guess what I'm realizing is that... I don't really know much about Asgard. And I don't mean, like, the science of it all, which I don't expect to understand right away. I mean more of the _life_ stuff. What it was like to grow up there... for you. I've tried to imagine... to comprehend the length of your lives, and how it must feel to have all that knowledge... you probably remember so much... I don't know what I would do with all of that."

Jane could see from the corner of her eye how Thor's eyes beheld her tenderly, his expression warm, even in silence.

He dipped his head, focusing on the woodbine in his hand again, pressing his lips together. Then his lips parted, hesitating before he spoke.

"A long, long time ago on Asgard, there ruled a mighty king, who threw a mighty feast to honor his first-born son. There had never been a grander feast in all his reign, nor ever since."

Jane's shifted her weight, listening intently. Thor's eyes watched the stars as he continued.

"Courtiers arrived from all across the realm to celebrate the crown prince's most recent victory. He was yet a youth approaching manhood... just one year away from his coming-of-age. He had returned home after completing a rigorous period of testing... far ahead of his time, and more capably than was usual for others his age. You see, on Asgard, there is a custom... that every man or woman aspiring to become a great warrior should complete a certain series of trials... an ultimate testing of his ability and strength. It is called _Trengsel_. This period of testing would span a full year... leading the prince across eight of the nine realms in search of the long-lost sword of Surtur... a fire demon long defeated by his ancestors. The prince knew upon setting out that none had ever succeeded in recovering the sword. But the point of the journey did not lie in finding it, but in the art of searching.

"Sure enough... the prince returned home without it. But when he told his father of what he did accomplish, the king was astonished. His closest companions who had journeyed with him attested to the tales... and it was round the torch-lit longtables of the feasting hall that the prince recounted his glorious feats in elaborate detail, arousing shock and amazement from all who listened. They gorged themselves on roasted boar... succulent pomegranates, cheeses and grapes... and the finest ale in all the kingdom.

"When the guests had had their fill, the king rose from his seat, standing at the head of the royal table. To his left sat the queen, poised and beaming with pride for their son... who sat at the king's right. The prince stood to his feet as the king placed his hand on his shoulder. He faced the hundreds of captivated guests, lifting his golden cup, declaring a toast. He then spoke solemnly, affirming the prince's admirable traits... proclaiming that he had all the qualities of a future king... and to this the crowd cheered, fully in agreement.

"The king lifted his chalice high into the air, beaming proudly, 'To my son!' A chorus of guests echoed him, raising their glasses too. But when the king lowered his chalice to complete the toast with a drink... his eyes stared into the cup and grew wide in horror. The glass flew from his hand, landing on the table with a resounding 'clank!'... wine spilling in every direction. And out of the chalice leapt two giant frogs... They darted from one end of the banquet table to the other, oozing slime and spreading chaos in the crowds. The guests cried out in confusion, making a mess of the food and decorations... Einherjar rushed in to expel the disruptive creatures. Meanwhile, the queen covered her mouth in an effort to hide her laughter... And the crown prince surveyed in bewildered disgust. Guards threw themselves on top of the tables, reaching for the perilous creatures. The entire hall gasped... for as soon as one of the guards succeeded in touching the frogs' legs... the two of them radiated green light, before vanishing into thin air.

"The king grew furious. He landed his fiery eye on a young man, seated by the queen's side... He was covered from head to toe in dark clothing, and had gone wholly unnoticed during the celebration, until then. The young man froze, eyes widening, as he clutched the tablecloth nervously in front of him. The whole hall stared in silence at the man. His face drained of all its color as the king raised a pointed finger at him, ordering his immediate absence for the rest of the evening. The young man dared to protest, requesting to speak with the king in private... But the king was tired of the young man's tricks and illusions. He reprimanded the man before the entire assembly, shaming him for his call for attention and his childish jealousy. The young man stood to his feet, trembling with shame. He lifted his watery gaze towards the queen... and she mirrored his helplessness. No one stopped him as he left the banquet hall, and no one went to him."

Thor grew silent as a gust of wind blew across the deck. The sound of rustling leaves swelled all around. The cold air made a shiver run through Jane's body... She pulled her plaid sleeves tight over her hands, and rubbed her arms for warmth.

"Why did he do that?" she wondered. "Does the story end there?"

Thor's gaze remained distant... aimed at the night sky. Exhaling, his giant shoulders rolled back, a graveness overcoming his voice.

"He did it... to save our father's life."

Jane's eyes grew wide.

"Wait... So you mean... this story... it actually happened?"

Thor nodded, "Aye. My father's cup had been poisoned. No one had seen. Not even the all-seeing Heimdall. Two of the banquet's guests, Brona and Magnir of Ringsfjord... were skilled at magic. They had turned a deadly poison invisible, slipping it into the All-father's cup. They planned to replace King Bor's descendants with the Nephaleus... creating a new order of kings. They also planned on taking advantage of the fact that neither of Odin's sons had come of-age. Yet their enchanted poison did not go wholly unnoticed. The young man sensed the threat through his tendrils of magic... his knowledge of the craft unbelievably beyond his years... Yet it wasn't until that day that his talents were considered more than a sign of cowardice and weakness.

"But when the truth came out, and the king finally recognized what had actually transpired... he quickly made amends. He issued a decree throughout Asgard, that honor be shown by all to the man who saved the king."

Jane drew in a breath, realizing she had been holding it.

"The young man in the story... that... that was Loki."

Thor made no reply, his eyes avoiding her gaze. Her eyebrows drew up, her expression betraying her puzzlement.

"I never would've imagined him... doing something like that."

The wind blew, sending Thor's golden mane swirling about his face. Eyelashes fluttering, he lifted his gaze higher and higher, fixing upon a torch that burned bright in the heavens. It twinkled alone in the night sky, permeating the hazy blanket of city light.

"That deed," he whispered roughly, "was but one of thousands more like it."

Jane swallowed, her throat closing.

"I've known him all my life, Jane," he said, struggling to keep his voice even, "A thousand years is a long time to know someone. And throughout that time, he ever stood faithfully at my side. Through battles, and trials... closer than my very shadow. He was my right-hand man in everything I did. During my _Trengsel_, he made sure I stayed on the path marked out, that I wouldn't lose my way. I would've perished long ago were it not for him."

Thor bent his head forward. "Loki...was the only soul in the nine realms in whom I could fully trust. He would always listen...offering his advice when I had no direction. He was my conscience, when I had none."

Thor's marred forehead twisted, half-hidden under his golden locks tangled by the wind. "When you met me, Jane...I was at a point in my life where I was yet full of pride, unaware of my arrogance. Despite every warning, I had, on numerous occasions, put those whose lives I should have protected, in harm's way. You found me just as I was beginning to understand the error of my ways."

Thor's head turned up, his eyes gazing directly into Jane's. She saw how they brimmed with tears.

"That was also when _Loki_ changed...into the man you saw on your TV...the man _I_ no longer knew. He went mad, with the revelation that he was not truly our blood. He was born of a different race deeply feared by the Aesir...and acting out of desperation for my father's approval, he sought to destroy the home-world of the frost giants, willing to hurt everyone who tried to stop him. In great despair, he threw himself into an abyss, in which we had thought he perished. But a year passed, and he returned, alive on Midgard. He had seen unknown worlds, entangling himself in influences that poisoned his mind...filling him with a lust for power and control. He had a starved, mad look in his eyes... that I did not recognize. After fighting on earth, I was torn, forced to consider the possibility that the Loki I grew up with would never return from that abyss where he had died. Thus... I left him to his prison cell... And yesterday is the first time I went down... And when I came to him, I saw how deeply he had mourned for our mother. His cell was utterly destroyed, shards of glass littering the floor... His foot bled. His clothes were ripped apart, and his eyes were swollen red."

Thor's jaw clenched as he struggled to keep himself from choking. Jane gasped, covered her mouth with her hand.

He nodded weakly, drawing up a watery breath through his nose. Then his lips twitched up into a painful smile. "Yet from the moment he stepped out of that cell...to the moment he lay there, so peacefully still in my arms—I know I did not allow myself to trust him, or to believe it at the time—but it is clear to me now. Through his smug veneer and his sly, cutting remarks...the brother I knew, was still there. I saw glimmers of it on Midgard... And when he returned to his place by my side...he called me nothing but 'brother,' never once correcting himself. We fought _together,_ as we once did... and it was not hard to imagine a world in which the last two years of our lives had never occurred. As if nothing had ever changed. I saw him willingly throw himself in the way of that explosive to save your life...without a second thought. Immediately, I flew into him to save him from certain oblivion... And when he lifted his eyes, I saw that he did not expect himself to be saved... And when _I_ thought I was done for...the berserker pounding me into the ground until I had lost all my strength...Loki found me, saving my life at the cost of his own. He told me, repeatedly, before he died, how very _sorry_ he was. I did not know how I should respond...how to calm him, so I told him how I would tell father what he did there to save me. But he stared up at me, replying plainly, that he didn't do it for our father's sake. And then he died...as honorably as Mother did...offering up his life for another." Thor sighed tearfully, "She would have been very proud of him."

Jane dashed away a tear from her cheek, with her fist wrapped in her shirtsleeve. Both Thor's cheeks were wet with tears, trickling down his chin to his throat.

He lowered his head, the flowers in his hand capturing his attention once again.

He released a rattled sigh, his fingers brushing against the flowerpetals. "She taught us how every flower had a meaning... And this one was always very special, she told us... That we ought to remember its meaning, always...for as long as we both should live."

His arms drifted slowly toward Jane, until their elbows touched.

Thor paused. Then he held his palms out towards her. When she understood, Jane carefully took the clump of flowers between her fingers, holding them up toward the light. She now noticed them in their beautiful detail... how each petal curled upward... the stunning hues of pink and yellow... she stared at them in awe.

Thor gradually lowered his arms, his eyes lifting toward the Northern Star again.

"She told us this one meant 'brotherly love.'"

VVV

Loki moved cautiously along the gold-plated floors of the inner palace... casting a faint shadow of Odin's stout form upon the torch-lit walls. His boots hit the floor lightly... carefully avoiding drawing attention to himself.

Veering right, he headed toward an adjoining hall, lined with doors.

His feet knew their way well. He weaved with ease through the winding corridors, having trekked every single inch of the palace before, countless of times.

Every hall he passed was strangely empty. Most every Einherjar had moved from their usual posts, gathering themselves near city's outer wall, as "Odin" had instructed.

After descending an empty flight of steps, Loki landed on the level of healing chambers.

These rooms were run by Eir, Asgard's head healer, and her students. They worked for those living in the inner palace. But these rooms were currently deserted... every healer being called to attend those who were critically injured during yesterday's attack.

He entered the first healing room, adjusting his eyes to the dimness of the room, only lit by a single bowl of fire hanging from the ceiling. The room was round in structure, covered entirely with golden panels. The fire illuminated the room with a soft, bronze light. A healing table made of stone occupied the right side of the room.

Cupboards and shelves hung on the walls to the left... where a myriad of healing tools were set: Vials filled with vibrant, glowing potions; small, leather pouches containing magical healing stones; jars of all shapes and sizes holding glittering dust, dragon scales, fairy wings, bilshnipe scales... and apple-preserve, from the healing branches of Yggdrasil, the world tree.

Opposite the healing table, underneath the cupboards, stood a wooden desk. Its wooden surface was hardly visible beneath the piles of healing books, notes, and charts. To its right, against the wall, sat hundreds of healing records written in scrolls... probably hundreds of years old.

Loki lifted his chin. His one eye scanned every corner of the healing room, verifying that he was alone.

He waved his hand. The twin doors behind him rumbled, swinging together slowly, bolting themselves securely.

A green light flashed. The shadow of Odin elongated, growing half-a-foot in stature... beard vanishing, cape transforming into a fitted coat with long, individual flaps. His entire form grew lithe and thin. The spear flashed from sight.

Loki's slight form relaxed.

Barely.

Curling his hands into fists, he took several strides toward the healing table.

He stood, facing it, his chest-plate rising and falling with each breath.

Finally, his right hand swept in the air in a slow, deliberate motion.

Bright orange strands of sand-like particles appeared in the air, connecting the four poles that rose from the four corners of the healing table.

Loki took a step back, spreading his hands out in front of him, rigid fingers extended. He frowned, breathing once through his nostrils. Keeping his feet planted on the ground, he grunted through his teeth, willing magical energy to flow from his hands... watching as his fingers twitched with a burst of tension.

A white light beamed, originating from the center of the table. In a flash, Odin's body materialized... From the tips of his silvery hair, to the ends of his unmoving feet.

The light dimmed, and Loki's hands relaxed, dropping limply to his sides. He bent his head crookedly to one side, taking a faltering step toward the body. And halted.

He stayed there for an eternity, wrapped in the paralyzing sight of Odin's lifeless body. His veins pumped with adrenaline, his mind lost in a fog.

He could _not_ remember anything... between the moment he shut his eyes on Svartalfheim... and the moment he woke up...

To this absolute nightmare. Leaving his spot by the healing table, he turned toward the opposite side of the room, locating a stone, washing basin.

His pasty-white hands, smeared with bright-red blood, cupped themselves underneath the mouth of the pump. It obeyed, a stream of fresh water pouring out like a waterfall, splashing ice-cold water on top of his hands.

Blood-red water filled the basin below. Loki sucked in a breath.

He rubbed his palms together rapidly, with force.

Red water continued to flow...

Every bit of it had to come out. The water turned a lighter red as he scratched away the rusty stain in the cracks of his knuckles. He checked underneath his fingernails... Picked them clean, one by one.

He noticed that some of the blood had run down his wrists. He would have to remove his hand-armor.

Grunting, he pulled his hands from the basin and snatched a towel that hung near-by.

He dried his hands, returning the towel to its place, when he glanced sideways and paused. He caught sight of his reflection in a small, rusted mirror sitting on a desk.

A pale, angular face framed by ebony hair with split ends... Two ribbon-thin lips pressing themselves into a straight line. A pointed, chiseled nose and deep-set temples casting a shadow over his intensely light-grey eyes.

He hadn't seen himself since he stood facing the mirror in his cell, his fists clenched at his sides. An instant before he _screamed_... hurling a silver cup at the glass... shattering his image into a million, shiny pieces... shards of glass scattering themselves across the blinding, white floor.

Loki looked away, unknotting the green pieces of cloth that kept his hand-armor pieces in place. He unwound a strip in circles round his wrist, uncovering bloodstains round his left wrist.

He set the piece of armor down on the desk, starting to unwrap the bronze piece from his right.

The blood on his right wrist was noticeably thicker. Lifting green material, he uncovered dark, black stains.

In fact, they didn't look like dried blood at all. The lines seeped deep into his skin, like strokes of black ink...

Loki stopped unwrapping... his heart quit beating.

"What..." he whispered shakily.

His hands quivered as he hastily pulled the rest of the green fabric from his wrist. He took off his bronze vambrace, allowing it to clatter against the floor. He pulled his shirtsleeve up, as far as he could, holding his forearm up to the light of the fire...

Revealing a symbol, burned deep into his skin.

Loki's eyes darted up and down, examining the black lines, heart hammering against his ribcage.

He flipping his wrist over, back and forth in the candlelight... shaking his head in denial.

But the mark was there!

His vision blurred, coming and going in punctured bursts of light. But he could see its detail, becoming his sole focus: A strong black line starting at the back of his hand, going down past his wrist. Two more strokes, like feet, jutted out from the main stroke, angling down to the left, wrapping around the edge of his wrist. Like a tattoo, the mark had been stamped into his skin... traces of injury still lining its raised edges.

Loki knew the symbol well. It was an ancient rune, pronounced "Fehu."

When drawn upright, it symbolized prosperity, wealth and possessions.

But when the rune was turned upside down...

"_Fehu... Mal_," Loki uttered darkly. It meant the reverse.

_Failure. _

Loki's insides squirmed, darkness creeping along the edges of his vision, closing in...

_Bondage... Slavery..._

The air felt toxic. He suddenly couldn't breathe.

The mark on his wrist filled his vision... He could hear echoed cries in his mind, long silenced... He remembered the electric touch of a hand, holding him down... the hissing of steam as the heat suffocated him...

_Possession._

VVV

_To be continued..._

_Please leave a review if you've enjoyed!_

_For this story, I will be using the Language of Flowers. So if you see a flower, or a plant name, then please look them up in one of the online databases of flower language! "Aggie Horticulture" is my top website pick.  
_

_And for those who are wondering, those runes "Fehu" and "Fehu Mal" do actually exist! Google away so that you can see what they look like!_

_The story of the feast was inspired by the story in the book of Esther, of Mordecei saving the king from assassination._

_The title of the story was also explained! The idea of a test of strength for the Aesir was a detail mentioned in the film "Thor: Tales of Asgard"...a cartoon I highly recommend!_

_Fun trivia that might give you feels: the star Sirius was known as "Loki's torch" by the ancient Norns._

_Thanks for the reviews, shares and follows! I shall update soon. :)_


	3. Memory Potion

_Here's chapter three, everyone! Thank you, each and every one of you, for your reviews! You've inspired me so much with your input.  
_

_For the first section, I listened to "Double Trouble" from the soundtrack of HP: Prisoner of Azkaban. _

_For the second section, I listened to "Thor, Son of Odin" from the Thor: The Dark World soundtrack, and "As the Hammer Falls" for the third section._

_I listened to "Lucy Meets Mr. Tumnus" as I wrote the fourth section (the flashback). _

_And you should listen to "Lokasenna" for the remainder of the story.  
_

_Enjoy!_

VVV

_CHAPTER THREE_

_"MEMORY POTION"_

_VVV_

_"Double, double, toil and trouble,_

_Fire burn and cauldron bubble..._

_By the pricking of my thumbs,_

_Something wicked this way comes."_

_\- William Shakespeare, _Macbeth

_VVV_

The sound of crackling, red-hot embers and gurgling water filled the healing room. Firelight flickered dimly against the wall, illuminating the piles of leather-bound books stacked haphazardly atop a wooden desk.

Loki bent forward, sitting on the very edge of his stool. His right leg was bent, resting higher than the other, on the chair's crossbar. His other knee bounced up and down, as he slapped a heavy book on the desk, the first he had grabbed from the shelves on the opposite side of the room.

He flipped the cover open, and a cloud of dust emerged.

It was evident these books had not been used in over a century. Loki flicked away a trace of cobweb from the book's leathery edge and continued to flip.

He absorbed every diagram, every line of gold lettering written in a dozen ancient languages, as they flashed before him.

He flipped faster, with sweaty fingers, through hundreds of pages at a time. His eyebrows drew tight over clouded eyes as they darted left and right.

He let out a throaty sigh, slapped the book shut, and tossed it off to the right side of the desk.

He reached for the second book from the pile on the desk, slamming it down in front of him. Dust blew into his face, filling his nostrils. Loki felt a tickle build in his throat, but he resisted the urge to cough, swallowing it down.

He always handled books with such care. Presently, he ripped through them, with such force that the parchment nearly tore between his clawing motions. His hands shook, adding to the instability.

He pinched the corner of a page, but paused, before flipping.

Bringing his elbows up to the edge of the table, he snatched up the sides of the book, spreading it flat on the table. Strands of raven-black waves fell forward, hovering just above the paper.

"Here we are..." Loki sighed, underlining the words written at the top of the page with his index finger, "...potion for restoring memory."

He ran his hand over the surface of the book; his fingertips thrumming the table in a galloping rhythm. He scanned the page's contents, down to the last paragraph.

"Ingredients," he whispered. Inching his head closer, he read the first one...

_\- A sprig of Maidenhair._

His knee bounced. Glancing up from the book, he examined the shelf above his head that held rows of glass jars. Most of them were unlabeled, but he saw a cluster of jars containing plants... leaves and samples... off to the far right end of the shelf.

He touched the floor, and when he stood, the shelf was at eye-level. He set his hands on his hips, clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he looked through layers of glass.

He reached forward, bringing back a blue jar. It contained several dull-brown twigs covered in lime-green moss, riddled with stubs. He twisted the lid off and pulled out one of the branches. He set the jar back on the shelf.

Then he stepped in, toward the center of the healing room. There, a giant bowl of fire glowed, ablaze. Above its fiery light, Loki had placed an iron rack to support another bowl: a black, iron cauldron. From it rose a mist of boiling steam that reached the ceiling.

Loki released the Madenhair twig into the pot. It fell soundlessly, sinking below the burbling waters.

He returned next to the healing table, and read the next ingredient:

_ \- A single petal of Columbine._

He lifted his head and quickly located jars filled with flower petals. He snatched the one that contained dried, purple ones.

He plucked one out... it was thin as paper... went to the cauldron, and watched it flutter down and melt in the red, churning mixture.

Back at the table, he read:

_ \- Water from the spring of Hvergelmir. _

_ \- A pinch of ash from Helheim._

He found the jars: one full of crystal-clear water, and the other with midnight ash. He poured each of them into the mixture. Steam hissed... like a snake bearing its teeth.

He read on:

_ \- And the one ingredient you must _not_ forget: A single feather from the Jobberknoll bird._

Loki scanned the shelves... past larger ones filled with bilshnipe antlers and dragon's scales. He noticed ones filled with color... butterfly wings and feathers, but he didn't see the speckled, light-blue plume.

He pushed several jars aside, taking some down from the shelf, and peeking into others... until he found the one. It was safely stashed in the very back of the shelf in a small bottle: one remaining Jobberknoll feather. Its surface was blue like the sky... mottled with tiny, black dots.

Loki sighed between tight lips. He took the smooth feather out of the jar, between his fingers, and approached the cauldron once more.

He exhaled before lifting his hand over the cauldron. He released the feather over the waters, withdrawing his fingers quickly from the burning steam.

The plume touched the surface of the liquid. Sizzling, it began disintegrating. Then a long, high-pitched scream arose out of the cauldron. It resembled the sound of a bird, singing one long-lasting note before its death.

When the sound faded, Loki took the leather spellbook into the crook of his arm and straightened. He stretched out his left arm, spreading his fingers out toward the cauldron. Then he pronounced each word of the spell, slowly and precisely:

"_Getura betta potion... endur heimdata mingar... sem eghef misst... May this potion restore the memories I have lost. Byrja... nuna!_"

The flames received a jolt of life, rising high in the air. They flared, burning green for an instant, before returning to orange, lowering in intensity. The bubbling mixture cooled as steam dissipated, no longer howling.

Loki turned around, taking an empty potion-bottle from the desk. The glass was perfectly round beneath a thin neck. Strips made out of fine, golden wire wrapped around the glass in swirling patterns.

Dipping a silver ladle into the cauldron, Loki transferred frothy liquid into the flask, noting how it no longer steamed as he poured it carefully through the small bottleneck opening.

The stream of liquid glowed red, like wine.

He held the potion up in the air, hypnotized by the particles of ash that swirled in the sparkling liquid.

"Well... here's hoping."

The flask lingered close to his lips. He drew in a bracing breath, and pressed the mouth of the bottle to his lips.

Threw his head back and drank.

It singed the tip of his tongue, and tasted like burnt ash.

VVV

Darkness.

A thick cloud of crimson particles swept all around, like a hurricane wind... Aether tearing through the air like a million tiny shards of glass. They sliced through Thor's cape, and stung his skin as he pressed into the storm.

He panted hard, his lungs suffocating...

The wind whipped Aether everywhere... it slapped against his face. He pressed his eyes shut, wincing at the prickling pain. He gripped both of Jane's poles, tightly, lifting his right elbow just above his eyes, shielding them from red dust.

He could hardly make out the form of Malekith through squinting eyes and thick clouds of Aether. The dark elf stood with his arms outstretched above him. Cinders of Aether flew out of his hands and chest. They flowed into the air, red tendrils blackening everything in their path. The Aether hid the sky, entering through portals created by the convergence, spreading darkness... even into Asgard.

"Malekith!" Thor roared, raising his voice over the howl of the Aether.

The shadowed figure ahead of Thor stayed planted, only lowering his arms. Then he turned his head, slowly, one crystal-blue eye piercing through the dark expanse.

Thor stepped across the pavement, and the air surrounding him suddenly grew still. Malekith's tattered cape whipped gently behind him as they stood facing each other, in the eye of the storm.

"Darkness returns, Asgardian," Malekith's giant voice boomed, unnaturally low-pitched. He lifted his chin. "Have you come to witness the end of your universe?"

"I have come to accept your surrender," Thor retorted.

Lifting the spike in his right hand, he aimed it. Then he hurled it, straight at Malekith.

It whizzed through the air, and Malekith caught it, without batting an eye.

A tiny blue light on the spike blinked, in sync with a beeping noise. Malekith turned his head, lowering his arm, comprehending... just a moment too late.

The beeping accelerated.

In a burst, the spike blew itself into oblivion, taking Malekith's right arm with it. Malekith's right shoulder was now a black stub.

Thor swung again, throwing the second spike through the air. It landed, piercing Malekith's left shoulder.

The dark elf staggered backward, releasing a muffled howl before another burst claimed his left arm. Both stubbed shoulders continued to channel Aether, like sand, into the sky.

Thor's throat muscles worked. He held a third land-spike in his left palm...

"You think you can stop this?!" Malekith's voice boomed. He spread his stubs, the aether flowing out like two liquified arms. He growled. "The aether cannot be destroyed!"

"But you can," Thor replied. His right-hand fingers tensed, as he spread them. He reached behind his right shoulder, magnetic energy tingling in his palm.

Then he broke into a sprint.

His boots pounded on the pavement, hastening, spurred on by the magnetic tug increasing in his right palm.

A shout climbed in his throat, as he raised the land-spike, like a javelin, up to his ear.

_For Mother._

His feet were already half-way off the ground. Then he pushed himself off, with his toes.

His body flew with a reckoning force, momentum at its peak.

The mighty hammer Mjolnir piped through the air, sparking with energy. Thor stretched his right arm, high above his head, grimacing. His hand felt electrified.

Lightning bolts pulsed through his curling fingers, as he grasped the hammer tight.

_For Loki._

He swung. The heavy weight landed on the dark elf's head with a crack.

In the same moment, Thor drove the spike through Malekith's chest.

_BOOM!_

Sparks filled the air. The elf's body was blown backward. His back smashed into the foot of his ship.

Thor's body tumbled down, limbs twisting, and he landed flat on his stomach. His face met the grass.

He didn't move, and his vision went blank.

VVV

Darkness loomed, intruding upon Asgard. The giant, swirling portal that had formed above the Bifrost observatory had acted as a window into Midgard, and Thor's battle with Malekith. But as the Aether built in that realm, the portal went black, Midgard completely obscured.

The people of Asgard remained at a safe distance from the seashore as they witnessed the convergence from within the walls of the city. The energy shield was up, giving the people a sense of protection, where there was none.

Loki watched, as Odin, from the wall-walk above the city's golden gates. His war council stood in a half-circle at a distance behind him.

Heimdall stood far off to his right, his fiery-yellow eyes watching the conflict up-close.

"The realms are aligned," he reported. "Thor has yet to reach Malekith."

Seconds later, ink-black tentacles emerged from the portal, shrieking as they spread rapidly through the air, consuming everything in their path.

The city erupted in wailing terror. Loki gasped aloud as the Asbru bridge's glittering surface dulled, consumed by shadows that advanced, crossing the waters, heading towards the shining city. Half of the bridge turned into a black road, the Aether continuing to eat through crystal.

"I cannot see him now... he has entered the Aether storm." Heimdall's gaze remained distant, intense. "The fate of Asgard rests in his hands now."

An unsettled breeze blew silver braids across the weathered forehead of Odin. Gungnir stood straight at Loki's side, and his other hand clutched the edge of a parapet in the city wall as he leaned forward. His clouded eye danced between the half-obscured bridge and the portal above it.

His chest constricted. It tugged him upward, closer to the edge of the wall, until he had to catch himself with Gungnir to maintain his balance.

A blast disturbed the air. It silenced the shrill, scraping noise of the aether. Then the red liquid scattered, retreating from the golden gates of Asgard... shrinking back from the asbru bridge... being sucked back into the vortex from whence it came.

The air drew silent. Loki's breath shuddered.

Beyond the portal's oval frame, he could make out a distant figure draped in red. He lay face-down on a grassy field amidst scattered ruins, hands spread near his head, unmoving.

His hammer lay in the midst of the rubble, a few feet away.

Then another figure moved into view... a woman.

Her straight, long, dark-brown hair flew behind her as she entered the courtyard from the side, her hand resting against a stone pillar. A thin layer of soot masked her delicate features, and she wore Midgardian clothing: trousers; bright, red boots; and a brown dusty jacket.

She lifted her face to the sky, and Loki saw directly into her eyes.

It was her. Thor's woman. Jane.

Her eyes grew wide.

Then he saw what she saw: The enormous elven ark, high as a skyscraper, starting to crumble... its metallic plating flaking off like scales. The base of the ark shot out from underneath it, and it lowered with a crash, a cloud of dust rising from the weakened point.

It started to tip in the direction of Thor as he lay unconsciously on the grass.

"Thor!" Jane cried, rushing straight in the ark's path. Stooping down, she scrambled for his shoulders. She managed to flip him over. Thor now faced the sky, but his eyes remained shut.

The front of the ark tipped forward with increasing momentum, coming down toward them like the blade of a giant axe.

They would be crushed.

They would both die.

Loki lurched forward. The stone railing pressed painfully into his belly, stopping him from going over the edge. He gazed helplessly, watching Jane's futile efforts as she yanked Thor's arm pulling with all her weight. But Thor's stubborn frame wouldn't budge.

She glanced up at the bending ship. Back down at Thor.

Instead of running, she got on her knees and wrapped her arms around Thor's middle, pressing her head to his breastplate. She shut her eyes.

The ship's shadow hid their forms. Loki's heart skipped a beat.

The very next instant, the ark disappeared.

Loki blinked, feeling the heat building between his eyes.

Winded silence...

Jane blinked her eyes open, her eyebrows squeezed tight.

An older man... Erik Selvig... stood a stone throw's away from her, holding a square, metal device in his hands. He grinned proudly, calling to her. She sat up and glanced about, seeing him. Then she laid her head back down on Thor's chest.

His eyes fluttered open, staring up at the sky.

Loki sighed. And the corner of his mouth lifted, just a hundredth of an inch.

Heimdall echoed the sigh. "I saw Malekith appear on Svartalfheim, my Lord... It would appear that he was crushed beneath the weight of his own ship."

Loki's lips thinned themselves out. "How fitting," he replied, unable to disguise the satisfaction in his voice.

Then he straightened, facing Heimdall. "The aether... is it gone?"

Heimdall shifted his gaze. "No, it exists, intact on Svartalfheim, resting underneath Malekith's remains."

The portal above the Bifrost shrunk, and Loki turned away from it. His eye focused on a distant point, past the skyline.

"I hereby put Sif and the Warriors Three in charge of retrieving the Aether. They must bring it here, and secure it in the vault."

A guard nodded, "As you wish, my Lord."

Loki added, "Heimdall, the Bifrost may be reopened, but do _not_ allow Thor to enter the city before I am personally notified. I must know straightaway, as soon as he calls for you. He must not enter the palace until I have spoken with him... Yes?"

"Yes, my King," Heimdall replied, inclining his head.

And before anyone else could put in a word, Loki removed himself from the council's presence. He gave no explanation or excuse.

They knew their king was still in mourning, so no one dared stop him.

VVV

"_Overdoing it _just a bit,_ don't you think?"_

_Loki's slight nose backed away from the stone statue that stood in front of his face. His eyes, wide and green, studied the sculpture's chiseled features with a narrowed brow. He withdrew his charcoal stick, holding it betwixt his lithe, little fingers. _

_Thor stood just a few feet away. His blonde head tilted to the side, blue eyes narrowing. He wore his favorite navy-blue tunic with red accented fabric. Brown-leather bracers covered his wrists, and his fisted hands rested on his hips. _

"_The left side doesn't match the right," Thor added._

"_Oh, really?" Loki exclaimed, "Well... I think it's a very accurate prediction."_

_Thor's eyebrows shot up. "It doesn't even _look_ like a beard!" _

_Loki turned, crossing his arms. He stared at Thor through squinting eyes... thin lips smiling. _

"_Perhaps you think you'd do better?"_

_Thor took a step forward. "I _know_ I'd do better." _

_Thor's fist snatched up the charcoal stick from Loki's hand, nearly shoving his brother to the side. He strode up to another statue, also the statue of a boy, but its face greatly resembled Loki's. _

_Thor's hand hesitated above the stony face, his tongue sticking through his lips._

_Loki snickered. "You don't even know how to hold the stick correctly..."_

"_Shut up, Loki." _

_Thor lifted his chin. Then, his eyes lit up, and he grinned. _

_He waved the charcoal stick in the air, making quick motions. The air filled with scratching noises, as he marked the gray stone with chalky, black lines._

_Loki meandered, not far off, toward a stone pillar. Leaning against it, he crossed his arms again, continuing to watch Thor create his masterpiece. _

_Thor pulled his hand away in a sweeping motion as he finished his last stroke. His smile widened._

"_Behold!" Thor declared, stepping back to reveal a pair of hideously thick, black lines drawn just above stone-Loki's lips. The strokes ended in ridiculous, swirling curls that extended over stony cheeks. _

"_That," Loki articulated, "is the absolute _worst_ beard I've ever seen."_

"_It's not a beard, silly oaf! It's a mustache," Thor explained, "They're quite popular on Midgard. I think it suits you. Besides, there's no way you could ever grow a full beard, like Father's."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Your chin's never grown a single hair!"_

"_So?"_

"_So... you can't grow a beard."_

"_Says who?"_

"_Says mother!" _

_Loki's smile erased itself from his face. "She... what did she tell you?" _

"_She said you would never outgrow that baby-face of yours."_

_Loki cocked his head. "Then that's very different." _

"_Boys... What is this?"_

_Thor and Loki jumped at the sound of the voice, calling from behind. _

_They turned to see their mother, draped in sparkling golds and yellows. She stood in the center of the long hall, shaking her head, mouth pressed into a steady frown. _

"_What have you done to those statues?" she demanded, "Your Father just commissioned them four months ago!" _

"_Er..." Thor stammered, "Loki... Yes! _Loki_ thought it'd be funny if we... if we... well, you see..."_

"_It was only in jest, Mother," Loki interjected, "But do not fret... No permanent damage has been done. The paint, you see, is absolutely..."_

_He took up a small rag from his belt, and spitting on it, rubbed it in circles against the stony cheek of Thor's statue. _

_Loki's eyes widened when the black paint remained just as it was. He deepened his rubbing motions, shoulder tensing. _

_Finally he withdrew, hiding the rag behind his back, facing Mother. Scarlet crept up his cheeks. _

"_Soluble?... Or, not." _

_Frigga remained silent, gazing sternly at the two boys who slumped before her. Her mouth quirked, betraying a smile, as she clasped her hands together in front of her, releasing a melodic sigh._

"_You will both clean up this mess, immediately. It doesn't matter who thought of it first, you will both clean it up, since you both played a part. And I'd do it before your father sees... unless you'd like to see him very upset." _

_Thor and Loki both nodded. "Yes, Mother."_

"_And don't be late for supper... it begins in an hour," she added, "And you must wear clean clothes." _

_Loki saw Thor's tunic out of the corner of his eye, and it was covered in gray stains, especially underneath his belt._

_Frigga shook her head, sighing through a smile, as she walked back up the hall. _

_Loki rolled his shoulders back, releasing his arms to rest at his sides._

_A knuckled fist struck Loki's arm without a warning. _

"_Ow!" Loki exclaimed. "What?!"_

"_You liar!" Thor cried, "You said the paint wouldn't stain them... Now Father's going to kill us!... What on earth were you thinking?" _

"_The paint _will _come out, I promise," Loki replied, "It just... might not be as easy as I thought." _

_Loki strode up the hall, waving at Thor. "Come on... we had better fetch some cleaning supplies."_

_They both left the hall, returning quickly with two buckets brimming with soapy water, rags draped over their shoulders, and brushes with horse-hair bristles in their hands. _

_They scrubbed for nearly an hour. Loki's hands began to sting._

"_Oww! Thor, look!... My hands are all red!" Loki showed Thor his pinkish palms._

"_Mine are too... At least _I'm_ almost done with your mustache..."_

"_Oh no you don't! You're going to help me with your beard as soon as you're done."_

_Thor inhaled through his nose. Craning his neck, he looked up... past the stone brothers, to a pair of colossal statues: the king and queen, whose heads nearly touched the ceiling, a hundred feet above their heads. _

"_Loki, do you ever wonder what we will be like?" _

_Loki's nose wrinkled. "What do you mean?"_

"_I mean, do you ever wonder...? Father always tells us such extraordinary tales, of all the places he's been... I wonder if we'll do the same things, or different things. In a thousand years, we could be far, far away... fighting a battle... exploring the realms. He's been to them all, you know. And someday, we could too."_

"_We could... Except we can never visit Jotunheim." _

_"Well right... every realm except for that one. But if we were kings... we could change the law that forbids it."_

"_Only _one_ of us gets to be king, remember?" Loki corrected._

_Thor threw his hands up in the air. "Look, fine! _You_ can be king... but _I_ get to be the greatest warrior the nine realms has ever seen!" _

_Loki shook his head. His smile faded. Lowering his arm, he eyed Thor momentarily before scrubbing again. "...with a gloriously-long beard."_

_Thor flashed a smile, showing the whites of his two front teeth. He chuckled loudly._

_A distant, padding noise filled Loki's ear, and he quit scrubbing._

"_Uh oh..." Loki whispered. Thor traced Loki's gaze up to the other end of the hall, and saw him. _

_Their father's frame, half-hidden in shadows cast by rows of pillars, which lined both sides of the hall. He wore his layered, copper robes and heavy, black boots. He entered slowly, a scroll opened in his hands before him, his gaze buried in the parchment page. He hadn't looked up at them yet, but he was heading straight their way. It was just a matter of seconds before he took notice of their presence._

_Thor quietly lowered the brush in his hand. Swallowing, he met Loki's eyes, which stared back at him, jittery. Thor bared his teeth, eyebrows lifting, silently echoing Loki's trepidation of what was to come. _

_Odin's footsteps slowed to a halt. Thor lifted his head, meeting their Father's steely gaze as Odin glanced up from his scroll. Loki, instead, lowered his head, bringing the bridge of his nose between his fingers._

_The All-Father's eye gathered everything in the room: the water buckets, the brushes and rags... the statues with sparkly, soapy beards... the guilt-ridden expressions on his sons' faces... _

"_Did you two do this...?"_

_Thor answered with silence. Loki's face burned. He also bit his tongue. _

_The silence lingered, and Odin simply nodded. _

"_I see."_

_Thor and Loki fidgeted underneath his penetrating gaze. _

_The parchment in his hands crinkled as he rolled the scroll up and turned his back on his boys. He thudded up the hall, each step like a weight hitting the ground. He tapped the folded paper against his hip, adding without taking a glance back:_

"_You had better clean it up before your mother sees..." _

_Thor and Loki stared after him until he disappeared from sight, mouths hanging agape. They glanced in each others' direction, their expressions matching. _

_Then the colonnade echoed with light, stifled laughter, the two boys hardly able to contain their surprised relief._

Loki shook himself presently. He blinked until his one-eyed vision cleared.

He stood, in the guise of Odin, in the shadow of a pillar. Afternoon rays of light rippled through the dusty air, through each row of intricately-carved columns, casting long shadows across the uneven, stone floor.

From a distant hall, on the other side of the palace, the sound of scraping chisels and pounding hammers echoed, reaching Odin's ears, the reconstruction of Asgard's throne already underway. There, Asgard's most skilled metalworkers, designers and craftsmen sawed, molded, and pounded to restore everything back to its original state.

Loki wandered deeper into the hall, the aroma of burning incense filling his nostrils. His gaze remained fixed on the familiar faces of two boys made out of stone. Their figures stood straight ahead. Their faces bore a look of serenity; the sides of their arms were nearly touching. Two large, stone hands lay resting on top of their shoulders, belonging to their parents, the king and queen. Their carved bodies stood just behind the two princes.

Loki's gaze went up their hands and arms, past their shoulders, resting on empty space above their necks.

Their heads were gone.

Demolished.

Now scattered amongst the piling rubble at their stony feet.

A giant hole had been ripped in the ceiling above the statues. And a column... torn in half... rested, angled against the legs of the king's statue.

Soft giggling and echoed, tip-toeing footsteps rang in Loki's ears.

A shadow of a blonde-headed boy dressed in blue flittered across Loki's vision, before disappearing in shadow, passing behind a column to his right.

Loki lifted a finger to his brow, rubbing deep-set wrinkles with his thumb... wrinkles that weren't his own. He sighed deeply...

This potion wasn't exactly working the way he had hoped.

Once again, he heard the clanking rows of footsteps approach him from behind. He groaned tiredly.

"Thor has returned, my Lord."

The guard's words sent a shock through Loki's system. He spun round, facing the group of Einherjar. His expression hardened into a scowl.

"The mortal is not with him, then?"

"No, my Lord... only the Prince himself arrived... And he wished to inform you that he also seeks a private audience with you, before any sentence is carried out."

_Sentence?_

Loki inhaled, throat feeling musty. Keeping his stance, he lowered his bearded chin.

"Yes. Bring him here, before the throne room. I will speak with him there."

VVV

Like a lion without a cage, Loki paced the floor of the outer courtyard, the main entryway leading into the throne room.

His wrinkled hands wrung each other restlessly, folded behind his back.

He had hid his spear away... _Very_ much away.

He watched over the rooftops of the city, and below, across busy streets and flowing rivers that ran on either side of the central path of the rainbow bridge. Two towers stood on either side of the landing, statues of armored gatekeepers bearing spears and shields, and bowls of fire-lit torches behind them.

His pacing ceased as something caught his eye: A tiny spot of color moving across the orange-purple sky, flying above the gleaming towers near the horizon.

It flapped in the sky like a sail, a red caped man on a gliding ship. The winged transport zoomed past spires and arches, approaching the place where the rainbow bridge meets the palace, disappearing beneath an overpass, landing somewhere in a ship hanger below.

It was Thor, escorted by a cluster of Einherjar, who surrounded him. They crossed a small bridge over a road below, and Loki had to crane his neck to keep them within sight.

Tree tops and stone hid them again, before they entered through a door in the base of a hollow tower. They ascended inside, using a spiraling flight of stairs leading up to the landing where Loki currently stood.

A tremble in his right hand returned. He made a conscious effort to calm his breaths, watching the door where Heimdall emerged first.

A burning itch tickled his wrists, begging him to scratch the raised skin underneath his shirtsleeve... underneath his carefully-woven illusion.

Two guards, carrying spears, trailed behind Heimdall, the shadowed staircase behind them unoccupied.

_Clank... clank... clank..._

Loki's eyes grew wide, recognizing the eerily, familiar sound.

The sound of jingling metal, drawing closer, rising from the spiral stairs beyond the door.

_Clank... clank... clank..._

Loki dropped his arms to his sides, curling his hands into fists, when he saw Thor appear.

Thor's wrists were bound together in front of him...

By heavy, metal shackles.

VVV

_To be continued..._

_Please leave a review if you enjoyed! :) I love hearing your thoughts._

_Notes: The Jobberknoll bird detail was taken from the Harry Potter wikipedia. It was the only mention of "memory potion" I found on google-search. It was an interesting detail that I had to borrow._

_And I don't know about all of you, but I LOVE the film "The Prince of Egypt," and the flashback section was more or less inspired by scenes from it. Another great (tragic) story about brothers. I also harkened back to that moment when Edmund in "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" drew those eyeglasses and mustache on the stone lion in the Witch's courtyard. ;)_

_Review! Subscribe! I shall update as soon as I can for the next one!_


	4. No, Thank You

_ Thank you all for your very encouraging feedback! I always love hearing your thoughts!_

_ Before reading this chapter, I would highly recommend listening to "Gollum's Song" from the Lord of the Rings soundtrack (quoted below). It goes perfectly with section three! Go open up another tab RIGHT NOW and listen to it!_

_ For section two, I listened to "Deliverance (extended)" on youtube, and Gandalf Falls (extended). And for section three, I listened to "Letting Go" from the Thor soundtrack. :'( Nothing for section four! _

_ Enjoy!_

VVV

_CHAPTER FOUR_

_"NO, THANK YOU"_

_VVV_

_"Where once was light, now darkness falls_

_Where once was love, love is no more_

_Don't say goodbye_

_Don't say I didn't try..._

_These tears we cry are falling rain_

_For all the lies you told us,_

_The hurt, the blame!_

_And we will weep to be so alone_

_We are lost! We can never go home."_

_\- Gollum's Song_

_VVV_

_Clank._

Thor's chains jangled as he halted, just a few meters before Loki.

Loki stood in the shade of the palace archway, which led into the throne room, still draped in the illusion of Asgard's King.

The sun waned in the starlit horizon by the sea, drenching the outer courtyard with golden rays of light. Thor hung his head, avoiding eye contact, a thick lock of golden-yellow hair half-hiding his blood-streaked forehead.

Heimdall and a row of Einherjar stood at a distance from the shackled prince, awaiting their king's next order.

Loki sucked in a breath. He leaned in, taking an uneasy step towards Thor.

Thor did not lift his eyes. He stared down at his chained fists, silent as a lamb.

"Are you all right?" Loki asked, disguising his voice as Odin's. It felt unnatural and sounded strange in Loki's ears.

Thor sighed deeply. His head stayed lowered as he replied, "I suppose it all depends upon your meaning of 'all right.' Though, I _am_ back in one piece."

Loki eyed Thor's chains, his eyebrow arching upward.

"Well, I must say... this is not the way I expected to receive you."

Thor did not smile. Loki's eye remained on Thor's downcast expression. He inched his head forward. A moment passed. His eyebrows drew together and he smiled.

"But, I do confess... I am very glad to see you."

Thor lifted his head. His eyebrows shot upward. "You... You are?"

Loki lowered his head. "Well, yes. You had me worried there, for a bit. You faced Malekith alone... But I did not think to punish you for that."

Thor's lips parted. His body slumped, his gaze dropping toward the ground. "Yes, but I disobeyed you... That is not to say that I... regret taking action. Because I am certain I would have chosen the same path if it lay before me again. Nor was I unaware, upon setting out, that my plan would require some sort of sacrifice. I knew every option had its own set of risks. And yet, I was foolish, for I did not consider that the consequences for my actions would be great. Now I know... what it truly means to disobey the king."

"I am... your father," Loki replied, "And what matters most to me, in this moment, is that you are alive."

Thor's blue eyes stared. His jaw twisted to one side, and he released a long, heavy sigh.

"Father... There is something I must tell you, of what happened... When we were on Svartalfheim... Though we yet grieve for the loss of Mother..."

Loki watched as a tremble passed through Thor, from his forehead down to his toes. He drew in three steady breaths. Then he stiffened. And barely above a whisper, he spoke.

"Loki is dead... because of me."

Loki closed his mouth, maintaining a steady, hollow expression. He made sure his face didn't flinch, didn't reveal emotion, as Thor continued unevenly.

"He saved my life, stabbing the monster who helped kill Mother. He saved me... He fought, by my side. He protected Jane, following our plan perfectly. When I decided to bring him with us, I made sure his hands were bound, so he wouldn't try betraying me again. But he never did betray me. I know... you would have been proud of him, Father."

Loki glanced away. He watched a group of trees, rustling above the rooftops near the balcony, and kept his focus there, away from Thor's gaze.

Thor's voice quieted. "I should have listened to you, Father. Now... because of my disobedience... Loki is dead. I am truly... truly sorry."

The elder prince's voice broke, and he gasped for air. Loki shut his eyes.

"He is gone. And I am forever in his debt. So I _should_ be judged, according to your law, Father, for if I had just... If I had just obeyed, none of this would have happened! I shouldn't have sought him out. I shouldn't have gone to him... Yes, he'd still be locked up in that dungeon, but at least he would have _lived._ And I shouldn't have taken him there... If only I knew... If only I knew that bringing him there would serve in getting him _killed..._ We were fools, on a fool's errand... protecting Jane from a force we couldn't even hope to contain... and of course, my plan didn't even work... we didn't succeed in destroying the aether. And Loki died, because he agreed to help me protect Jane from a force we... didn't even understand. No different than how Mother died... He followed in her footsteps..."

Loki's eyes widened. He inclined his head towards Thor. "What... what did you say?"

"'I'll take care of her,'" Thor replied, "Those were the last words Mother said to me. And she did. She hid Jane from Malekith, and Loki... he told me, exactly the same thing."

Loki shuddered.

"He told me he would protect her... at all costs. We agreed. That was our plan. And he followed it, to the end. So, yes, Jane was saved. The universe, saved. Our Mother avenged. But, at what cost? Loki... he... he is gone! Forever. He is _dead_. And why? What was even _the point_?!"

Thor's chains clattered—he tore himself away.

Loki couldn't breathe.

Cape sweeping behind him, Thor crossed over to the balcony's edge, and faced the city. Waterfalls crashed, far below, shadows growing long in Asgard's streets.

Thor's frame tensed. His breathing came in short gasps.

Then he spoke, but Loki could not make out the words.

Descending two steps, Loki stepped out of the shadow of the palace and into the balcony. His skin felt hit with warmth as soon as he stepped into the light. He squinted.

The sun, in its golden hour, lit the sky ablaze, rimming every skyscraper, every rooftop in the city with fiery orange. Over the balcony's ledge, shimmering rapids formed two rivers that flowed from the palace to the sea, like two panes of glass, reflecting apricot hues back into the air. The glow surrounded Thor's head, resembling a crown made of burnished gold, highlighting his blonde mane in soft, caramel light. Every scale on his silver shoulders gleamed with a shining brilliance that outmatched the stars.

When Thor spoke again, he did so barely above a whisper.

"I wish... Mother were here."

Thor slowly angled his head towards Loki and twin tears... like glittering diamonds, flowed down Thor's cheeks, into his beard.

Loki's illusion flickered, imperceptibly.

He bit his lip, and replied softly, "Me too."

Thor's face grimaced, and smiled at the same time.

"When things were unclear, she always knew precisely what to say... didn't she."

Loki's lips parted.

"Thor, you must know, that Loki's death, it... wasn't of your making. Perhaps it was fate_._ Perishing... was his fate... and nothing would have stopped it, nothing... you could have done would've prevented it from happening."

Thor looked right at Loki. He did not blink. He stared for an eternity, his eyes shining. Thor's lip trembled.

"It's just that I..." he choked, "I fought so hard... to save _him._"

His face twisted.

And then he broke. His head lowered, and he shuddered, silent tears streaming down.

Loki's throat closed.

He stiffened.

His arm took on a will of its own—and in one heart-pounding moment, he nearly reached out for Thor's shoulder.

The illusion would come down.

Heat flashed across the back of his hand.

He flinched, clamping his fingers into a fist.

_ NO. _

_ No, I must not..._

_ I _must _NOT._

Suddenly, his vision flashed.

Thor's skin glowed yellow and red, like a sun. Loki felt like he was staring at a target on a map.

Loki's heart slammed into his chest.

His left hand flew up to his breastplate. He took a step back.

His vision flashed again, and Thor's skin returned to its natural color.

Thor lifted his bright blue gaze. "Are you all right, Father? Are you unwell?"

An Einherjar, who had been standing at a nearby pillar, took a step towards his king, ready to lend his assistance. Loki quickly held up his other hand.

"No! No... I'm simply... shaken... by this news." He lowered his arms, closed his hands to fists, turning away. "That is all."

Thor inhaled a watery breath, and nodded.

"Thor!"

Loki turned, seeing Sif. She looked just as she did when he last saw her. Her battle armor firmly in place, and the knife that she had held up to his throat as she threatened to kill him firmly secured in her belt.

She rushed up to Thor. Then her large, brown eyes caught sight of his chains.

"I'm sorry—What has happened?" she asked.

Then she looked up, and saw Thor's face.

"Thor! What's wrong...?" she exclaimed.

She searched him, frowning. "Is it Loki?"

Thor's limbs quaked. He finally nodded, his eyes brimming with fresh tears.

Her gaze widened. "Is he...?"

Thor choked.

Sif reached out, without hesitation, touching his arm.

"Oh, Thor...! I'm so sorry," she moaned, gripping his arm.

Loki shivered. He drew himself up, and waved his hand for one of the guards.

"Unchain him," he ordered, "He is no prisoner, he is your _prince_. Unchain him, now."

The guard responded right away. Sif backed up, sniffing as the guard unlocked the rune-inscribed shackles. They snapped off. The Einherjar went back to his spot with the others.

Thor dropped his arms wearily to his sides.

"Thor, I would have you go to your chambers, and stay there until daybreak. You need sleep." He paused, and added emphatically, "As do I..."

"Yes, you must rest," Sif agreed.

She slid her hand down to Thor's elbow. But Thor lifted a hand in protest. She withdrew.

"I cannot. Not until I complete a certain task. Father, with your permission, I wish to return to the Dark World. I made an oath, when there was no time, that I would return and retrieve his body. I fled in haste, the threat of darkness still looming, leaving him there, and he is still there. So, I must go back and find him... Please, I must."

Loki's shoulders fell, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. His every limb grew weak.

He nodded once.

"Yes. Go now, leave quickly. Join Sif and the warriors, who are going for another purpose. If doing this is your wish... I shall not stop you."

Thor's right hand curled into a loose fist. He set his jaw and dipped his head.

"Thank you, Father."

VVV

The dark sky loomed above Sif's head, thick clouds of ash shrouding the green sky of Svartalfheim.

Dust flew against Sif's bare shoulder. She stood atop a stone, overlooking black, desert plains scattered with ruins of elven ships, that stretched on and on for miles. Down in the barren valley to her left, Thor, cloaked in red, trudged on ahead of the group. The warriors Fandral and Volstagg remained many paces behind Sif, at the foot of the hill.

Volstagg carried a box, handling it with great care. Its golden frame contained two square rocks, and a slit down the middle glowed red. It hummed.

The Aether had been gathered earlier that day. They had found it near Malekith's remains, along the ground where the ship lay. Unfortunately, Heimdall could not help in Thor's search. Heimdall could only focus on living things.

When Thor had met them in the bifrost chamber the previous day, the warriors noticed he had not changed his armor after the fight with Malekith. He hadn't washed his face. His forehead still gleamed with blood. The prince made no eye contact as he bent down to pick up his hammer where he had left it, handling it stiffly. Sif could tell he hadn't slept since the death of his mother, the Queen. Fandral took a risk and pulled Thor aside, telling him, "It's all right, the mission can wait. You haven't even stopped to catch your breath!" But Thor replied that he wouldn't leave Loki's body one more minute. They would leave immediately.

So, Thor's friends had followed him, searching the Dark World from dawn till dusk. Presently, the green sun set over a craggy hill.

"Perhaps we should take a rest, for now!" Fandral called.

"I... concur!" Volstagg panted, slowing his pace.

Sif glanced down the valley towards them, shaking her head.

"Thor does not wish to stop. We must keep going, while there is still light in the sky."

"For pity's sake, Sif! Volstagg hasn't eaten anything in hours!" Fandral complained, "Very soon he'll collapse... Isn't that right, Volstagg?"

Volstagg wheezed. "A mouthful of honey cakes would do me rather well, now that you mention it."

She shot them both a glare, and continued ahead, descending the hill into the valley.

Fandral gave a labored sigh.

He stepped forward, following Sif. His foot slipped on the ash.

"The norns!" he grunted, "I do hope we're not going around in circles. Haven't we climbed this hill already? _Everything_ in this god-forsaken realm looks exactly the same!"

The wind swept, and Volstagg coughed, unable to reply.

Sif peered ahead, spotting Thor again. His thick, red cape flapped in the air. Otherwise he stood motionless.

She stopped.

_ Did he find Loki...?_

"Thor!" Sif called out.

Thor remained stone still, facing away.

She glanced behind, unable to see Volstagg and Fandral. They were probably still climbing.

She took another step down the side of the hill, steep as a mountain, careful not to slide on the volcanic rock. It was difficult, but she kept her eyes on her feet, until she landed on level ground.

Her leg muscles relaxed. When she saw Thor again, he no longer stood.

He knelt.

His cape draped over his legs. His hair blew in the wind, tangling to one side.

The sifting air also disguised the sound of her footsteps. As she slowed to a stop a few feet behind him, she wondered if he was aware at all of her presence.

His head remained bent forward. He slowly reached out, and dug his fingers into the sand. He picked up ash in his palm, holding it, allowing the wind to blow some of it away. Some of it fell threw the gaps between his fingers.

Sif could hear him speak.

She inched closer so she could hear the words he said.

She paused in her step, recognizing the words.

A prayer. An ancient lament, often spoken, just before a funerary pyre was cast off to sea.

"_Lo... det ser jeg min bror._"

_ Lo... there do I see my brother, _he had said.

Thor lifted his face to the sky, toward the hidden stars. His voice came out again, shaky and grave.

"_Lo... det ser jeg min mor._"

Sif felt a tight pinch in her throat. She shook against another cold gust. It blew through her chain mail, sending a shiver across her skin.

_ Lo... there do I see my mother._

His frame lifted and his voice continued in earnestness.

"_Lo, de roper til meg... De byr meg ta min plass blant dem, I de evige haller av Valhalla._"

_ Lo, they do call out to me... They bid me take my place among them, in the eternal halls of Valhalla._

His fingers curled, over the dust in his palm, tightening until his fist shook violently, sand grinding through his trembling fingers.

"_Hvor dine fiender er beseiret. Hvor den modige skal leve for alltid..._"

_ Where thine enemies have been vanquished. Where the brave shall live on forever..._

His voice broke, even though it carried a stronger sound.

"_Og hver __tåre skal tørkes bort!_"

_And __every tear will be wiped away!_

He gave a watery gasp. Then he lifted his palm, and his fingers loosened.

"_Vil det ikke __være mer smerte, eller sorg eller død..._"

_There will be no more pain, or sorrow, or death..._

He opened his hand and allowed the wind to carry every bit far away.

"_For de gamle tingene vil __forgå..._"

_For the old things will pass away..._

He slowly lowered his hand into his lap. Then he remained like that, absolutely still, for minutes.

Then, setting his palms on the black sand, he pushed himself up. He heavily got to one knee. He gathered himself, then stood up, exhaling.

He halfway turned, absently surveying the mountainous horizon, scanning from right to left.

Then his gaze caught on Sif.

Lines pressed deep in his forehead and between his eyebrows. He closed his mouth momentarily as he swallowed. And Sif saw directly into his darkened gaze, watching blue waves of water crash over a turbulent sea.

Her arm muscles tensed, her face heating up.

But she couldn't look away from the raw storm in his eyes.

His eyebrows twitched. Then he turned his gaze up towards the mountains, and when he spoke again he didn't address her. He whispered to the wind once more, finishing the prayer.

"_Og vi skal møtes igjen, på den fjerne land utover... og glede oss i den stigende solen._"

_And we shall meet again, on that distant shore beyond... and rejoice in the rising sun._

VVV

_TWO YEARS AGO..._

_Loki dragged in quick, desperate breaths of thin air._

_ His lungs burned, entire chest arrested in pain, because he couldn't get enough... Never enough... _

_ He clenched his jaw, but his teeth chattered still._

_ His hands had frozen stiff. He wrapped them around his armored waist._

_ He walked on, panting hard._

_ How long had he walked? _

_ Hours?... days?... weeks?_

_ He did not know. _

_ Somehow, he had survived the impact of his fall, waking up, disoriented, nauseated... in a man-sized crater surrounded by rubble. Half his ribs had been fractured, and he couldn't feel his legs for a long time. He lay there for days, perhaps (because if he moved an inch he felt like he was snapping himself in two), his body barely healing itself. As much as he tried to center his magic, focusing it on healing the wounds in his back and his abdomen, the faint tendrils wove incredibly slowly. _

_ With each passing hour, he had grown colder and colder. So he tried conjuring up another set of armor, one with insulation suited for colder climate. When he crossed his arms and slapped his hands on his shoulders, it did nothing. He tried a verbal command... that didn't work either. Even the simplest methods of magic, like waving and clapping, proved useless. He couldn't even produce a flame when he snapped his fingers._

_ The reason for this unfortunate setback, he concluded, was that there wasn't enough magic _in the air_ to conjure anything up. Without the aid of magic in the air, he could only use his internal magic... which ran low because of his physical state. _

_ There was nothing left to do, but to walk. So he pressed on through the endless void. _

_ Pitch black surrounded him... not a single light illuminating his footsteps, nothing shining but the faint stars above... constellations he did not recognize. They gave him no sense of direction. _

_ He was lost. _

_ His foot faltered and he stumbled. He flung his hands forward and caught himself on a jagged rock. _

_ His fingers curled around the rock and he grimaced, fresh pain shooting through his side. His organs jostled against his ribs... ribs that felt like splinters on the brink of snapping again. And then he noticed a chill in his knee, like a patch of moisture. _

_ Was he bleeding? _

_ He steadied himself again, shivering, as he continued journeying without a destination across the uneven terrain that rose and fell without warning. _

_ The ground dipped down suddenly. His boots skidded, scraping against sharp peaks of rock as he descended into a crater. His feet trampled faster, and he spread his arms out to his sides, fighting to maintain his balance. _

_ His heartbeat went wild._

Stop... stop, stop, stop, STOP!

_ He did _not_ want to fall again. _

_ Feet stepping too fast, too close to each other... they finally found their footing on level ground. He gasped with each inhalation, chest feeling as if it might burst for lack of oxygen. He stood in place, lowering his arms, ignored the pain in his toes... more aware of the numbness of his hands._

_ He couldn't feel his fingers, at all. _

_ So he rubbed them together. That didn't help. _

_ He slapped them against his legs. They barely tingled in response. _

_ That didn't help either. _

_ His vision blurred. _

_ Then his breathing hitched. He could feel his body stiffening, muscle by muscle..._

_ Though something in his gut did just the opposite. It slowed, a strange, unfamiliar strength growing in his abdomen, near his spine..._

_ No, deeper... even deeper than that..._

Deep_... in his very _core_: he sensed it. Like a reservoir of power, waiting to be tapped. It was cold, colder than his surroundings... and though he could not see it... he knew it was _blue_. _

_ His stomach turned over._

_ A blue, block of ice lay deep within him. It asked, beckoned him to set it free, to allow it to take over._

Never.

I'd rather freeze.

_ Loki walked. Then his toe slammed into something sharp._

_ He howled, and flung his hands out. _

_ He crashed to the ground, pain shooting up his arms as they landed on knife-like rocks. _

_"Ah!" he rasped, "...Damn it!"  
_

_ At least he knew now that his hands weren't completely frozen._

_ He dragged himself to a seated position. _

_ He lifted his hands so he could see them, but he couldn't make out their shape or color. He could only sense their movement, and they trembled, badly. _

_ He closed his hands, bringing them up together, in front of his lips. He breathed against his fingertips, but the air in his lungs grew steadily colder, and the numbness remained._

_ He contemplated lying back down, and not counting on getting back up. Then maybe his broken ribs would heal... or he'd perish like he thought he would when he fell..._

_ Something flashed in his mind. _

_ He remembered something, something stashed in his secret vault, in the magic realm of in-between. A specific object_—_he had almost forgotten it existed._

_ He shut his eyes, as his mind fumbled. He searched his invisible shelves before pausing upon the one where he had last set the object down... oh, maybe centuries ago. _

_ He snatched it up, and with a mental tug, made it flash into existence. It appeared in his palms, a green light shocking his senses, causing him to keep his eyes shut until the green light dimmed down._

_ He opened his eyes. _

_ He held a hand mirror of shining silver. _

_ Its oval rim glowed with green, electric sparks. He absorbed the mirror's every detail, like he'd never seen it before. _

_ He carefully turned it over, beholding the embossed patterns on the back. Flowing, swirling patterns, resembling braided hair, encircled the rim. A raised carving of a day lily marked the center of its shining surface._

_ The handle lay heavy and warm in his hand. He turned the mirror over again, curling his fingers around the handle. He stared into the black face of non-reflective glass._

_ Loki cleared his throat. _

_ He looked off to one side, frowning. "Oh, what were the words to that spell...?" he pondered. _

_ He focused blindly into space before snapping his head back towards the mirror._

_ "Ah, yes." He licked his lips and inhaled. Then he uttered the spell in a bitter purr: "Hello, handsome." _

_ The mirror obeyed. Its surface flashed blindingly, edges flaring with light. Loki squinted. Now he saw his reflection crystal-clear in the oval frame. _

_ Dust and filth marked his pale features. Traces of sweat went down his jagged cheeks, dried water-stains running from the corners of his eyes to his ears. His forehead bore bruises of every color, and a cut that still bled just below his hairline. His short, ink-black hair hung unevenly, fraying at the tips behind his ears. Inflammation lined his emerald eyes, and a red crack ran down the center of his lower lip._

Handsome, indeed.

_ Loki gripped the handle as steadily as possible. Then he pressed his right palm to the surface of the smooth glass._

_ "Take me to Asgard, please," he commanded. _

_ He waited, feeling the absolute silence of the void. _

_ Nothing._

_ "Take, me, to Asgard, please," he bit out._

_ Still, nothing._

_ Loki clamped his jaw."Fine then... _Show_ me Asgard... please."_

_ The mirror responded then. Loki's reflection transformed into a window to the realm eternal, revealing a sweeping view of Asgard's city, its golden towers shimmering over a thousand rivers, against the backdrop of a warm, nebulous sunset._

_ Loki's chest rose, clutching, and didn't release._

_ He adjusted his knees, sitting bent over the image in the glass. He exhaled with force, and gripped the mirror's handle with both of his hands. _

_ "I wish to see my family," he breathed, "Please."_

_ The mirror altered its image, zooming in on one gleaming citadel, flying into the balcony..._

_ Within, a giant feast took place, everything illuminated in golden torchlight. _

_ Loki watched as dozens of guests, dressed in their finest gowns, visited standing or seated round the long feasting tables of the royal dining hall. They soaked in the fiery glow of each others' company: clinking cups together; plucking bright, green grapes off of silver platters, mouths dripping with juice and wine; eyes glittering with laughter. _

_ Loki salivated. He could almost taste the roasted pheasant on his tongue... the toasted warmth of buttered bread... the salty, sizzling sausage and succulent pomegranates... feel the soothing buzz of ale underneath his sternum. _

_ Amidst the echoing chatter, his ear caught onto a familiar voice... Volstagg's. The heavy warrior leaned in close to the table, in the middle of one of his tales that captivated guests with laughter. He waved about his sausage, stuck with a fork, in large, sweeping gestures, honey and frothing liquor caking his beard._

_ "And then, with a mighty bellow," he recounted proudly, "I flew at the great metal beast and laid it low!"_

_ Cheers resounded, amusement flashing across every face in view..._

_ Then Thor appeared. _

_ He made his way along the outer edge of the golden hall, going around the standing guests. He wore his silver plated armor and floor length cape. He smiled, nodding pleasantly as he passed by groups of guests, brushing past Sif, who sat reservedly two seats away from Volstagg._

_ The mirror followed Thor, as he approached a beautiful woman draped in a flowing, dress beset with twinkling amethysts. She stood underneath the arched entryway, far from the reveling guests. _

_ Loki's eyes froze on her._

Mother...

_ Thor held a brief smile for her, as he gently shook her hand. She held on with both of her hands, and he nodded reassuringly before stepping away. _

_ Loki gripped the mirror. "Stay on Mother, please." _

_ The Queen watched after Thor as he descended a flight of steps leading to an outdoor hall lined with thick, gold columns; an extension of the feasting hall. She muttered something to herself, lips pulling tight. Then she noticed Sif standing by her side._

_ The young maiden's dress gleamed silver, covered in tiny, linking plates like armor. A large piece of metal that imitated a draping scarf covered her collarbone. She wore her hair down, which was rare for her._

_ She stared after Thor, just as the Queen did. Then Sif lowered her gaze and shook her head. _

_ "My Queen, I'm so sorry for your loss," she said._

_ Frigga smiled faintly. She reached out and touched Sif's arm, stroking it with her thumb. Then they both turned out, watching after Thor again._

_ "How is he?" Frigga asked._

_ Sif hesitated. "He mourns for his brother. And... he misses her." Her eyelashes fluttered, as her composure weakened. "A mortal." _

_ Frigga turned, facing Sif. _

_ "He will need his friends now more than ever."_

_ Sif nodded. "I know." _

_ Her mouth twitched, and she peered out again. Her shoulders lifted, and she added, "I will always be at his side."_

_ Frigga put an arm gently around Sif's shoulder. _

_ The banquet hall erupted again into laughter, and Frigga and Sif went in together in silence. _

_ Loki's numb fingertips trembled against the glass. He touched the image of his mother._

_ "Take me to her, please," Loki tried. _

_ His heart pounded. He knocked on the glass with his knuckles. "Please... please take me back... I... I want to go back. Please..." _

_ ...But he was out of reach._

_ His whole body shook. He shut his eyes, and arched his back, shivering. When his eyes fluttered open, they brimmed with hot tears. _

_ The image in the mirror blurred. He blinked repeatedly, and tried keeping his hands steady. _

_ "Show me my Father, please..." _

_ The glass glowed, and revealed Thor approaching the edge of a balcony overlooking the city at sundown. _

_ Father stood just ahead of him, gazing out towards the ocean where it met the stars. _

_ Without turning, Odin spoke. _

_ "You'll be a wise king."_

_ The words felt like hot coals inside Loki's chest. _

_ Thor did not move, nor did he speak, for a long while._

_ Then he muttered, "There will never be a wiser king than you..."_

_ Loki breathed unevenly, eyes locking onto the image inside the glass._

_ "...or a better father."_

_ Loki's knuckles slowly turned white around the mirror's handle until the frame rattled in his hands._

_ Odin lowered his head, his toe tracing a line on the ground. _

_ Thor continued, chin faltering. "I have... much to learn. I know that now." He went silent. He looked out, somewhere past the sea. "Someday, perhaps... I shall make you proud."_

_ A smile reached Odin's lips. He turned around and laid a weathered hand upon Thor's shoulder. Thor met his father's eyes with uncertainty._

_ "You've already made me proud," Odin replied. _

_ A haze obscured Loki's vision. He shook his head... shook his head, and shut his eyes. He remembered... _

No, Loki.

_ He sat, stunned. His trembling arms sank, lowering the mirror into his lap._

No... no, of course not...

_ In a slow, aching motion, he laid his palm over the glass, covering two faces he would never see again. He stopped the golden light from flowing into the darkness, and he felt a final surge of life emanate from the glass, subtle vibrations of the mirror's magic warming his skin. _

_ "Thank you, mirror," he said. A green light flashed, illuminating past his eyelids. _

_ "Goodbye."_

_ The mirror's surface went black, leaving Loki in absolute darkness once more. _

_ Then the mirror snapped out of existence. _

_ His body shook like a leaf, aching, begging for sleep. And his mind felt too weak to protest..._

_ Something tickled his left ear. _

_ Like wind... it touched his skin, underneath the nape of his neck... _

_ A low, whispering _hisssss.

_ He sluggishly opened his eyes, and saw a light. _

_ Faint, and blue... distant. _

_ Blinking away mist, he tried focusing on whatever it was._

_ The blue oval... an orb... hung in the air, suspended by nothing. It shone dimly upon a slab of stone that hovered above it, and another slab above that one, and another, and another..._

_ A spiraling staircase._

_ Climbing up, up, high... he could not see where to, for it was utter darkness up there. _

_ Loki swallowed a lump in his throat._

_ But the light... the light seemed warm. It invited him to come... come closer... and venture up the staircase above it... or perhaps to sleep beneath its mesmerizing glow._

_ He even thought he could hear it speak._

_ It touched his mind, whispering... _

Come.

Come, little one...

_Loki's hands fumbled against the slicing rock at his knees. He struggled, finally standing to his feet._

_ Then he took a step toward the light._

_He may not have to freeze, after all. _

Loki opened his eyes.

The memory faded away like an echo, and he stared straight out in front of him, at the gleaming throne.

He stood gazing at the empty seat. His left thumb flexed, absently stroking the spear in his hand.

He straightened, hearing heavy footsteps approaching from behind.

Turning, he faced the sound.

He saw his brother, striding down the center of the hall, his head held high, higher than before. He carried Mjolnir at his side. He came alone.

Loki shifted his weight, grounding his legs, straightening the spear at his side.

He braced himself, and gritted his teeth.

"All right," he whispered under his breath, "You know what you have to do... So just do it."

Make Thor king. Tell him that he's proven himself, that he is finally ready. Make it seem natural, make sure he understands... with the kingdom in mourning, and with the Odinsleep approaching... there is really no need for a public ceremony. Pronounce him king, right on the spot.

_And then leave._

By the time Odin's body is discovered in the King's bedchambers... Loki will be long gone, realms away. And Thor will never have to know the truth.

_It will be better this way._

"My Father, my King."

Thor landed at the center of the triune engraving carved in the floor. He knelt before Loki, at the base of the throne and dipped his head, continuing, "You may have heard that the warriors and Sif located the Aether, just as Heimdall instructed, and I'm told they will bring it to you shortly. Sadly... we were unsuccessful in finding Loki... Loki's body. We searched... everywhere... but he was buried deep, covered by ash from a mighty storm. It upsets me, that he was not given the ceremonial treating he deserved. But... somehow I found peace in leaving him buried. I concluded that, since it was the earth itself that hid him away, that perhaps fate, as you said... Surely, Mother watched over his soul as he entered Valhalla. I only hope that you are not displeased with my judgment."

Loki replied mildly, taking on Odin's voice, "No, not at all. You acted wisely, not allowing your grief to blind... or harden you. In fact, I am quite humbled in this regard."

Thor dipped his head, half-smiling. "Thank you."

Loki set his jaw. "And... I assume you've already heard of my recent decision?"

Thor's expression sobered. He nodded. "Yes. I have."

Loki straightened his posture. He inhaled deep and then spoke, "You once said... there would never be a wiser king than me. You were wrong. The alignment has brought all the realms together... Every one of them saw you offer your life to save them. What can Asgard offer its new king... in return?"

Thor stared straight at the stairs in front of him. Then he lifted his head.

"My life," he replied. Standing, he confessed, "Father... I cannot be king of Asgard."

Loki blinked, staring at Thor, speechless.

"I will protect Asgard, and all the realms, with my last and every breath, but I cannot do so from that chair."

What was he talking about?

"Loki, for all his grave imbalance, understood rule as I know I never will."

Loki hardly drew in breath through parted lips.

He knew that his brother once experienced a drastic change of character over the course of a three days, but this... This was something Loki never expected to hear.

"The brutality, the sacrifice... It changes you," Thor explained.

Loki tilted his head to one side, trying to read through Thor's expression. Yet nothing in Thor's face communicated any hidden meaning, none that Loki could detect. He spoke, as always, in a tone of absolute straightforwardness. "I'd rather be a good man than a great king."

"Is this my son I hear?" Loki asked, and he ventured a guess, "or the woman he loves?"

"When you speak, do I never hear Mother's voice?" Thor answered, his eyes staring up, bright.

Loki's breath caught.

_ Oh... what she would say about all of this..._

He lowered his gaze to the floor, sighing heavily.

Thor insisted further, "This is not for Jane, Father."

Thor... he did not want the throne.

He did not want to be on Asgard. He wished to be on Midgard, with Jane.

Loki gripped Gungnir with newfound strength. He lifted his chin, and a slight smile tugged on the edge of his lips.

If this was Thor's own choice... Loki would have to adjust his plan.

"She does not know what I came here to say," Thor continued.

Loki listened, steadying himself against an armrest, on the verge of rolling his eyes.

_Fine, you leave me no choice..._

He lowered himself wearily then,his leather skirts squeaking as he fell back with a soft thump into the newly-built, unused throne.

He leaned on his elbow, slumping into a crooked seated position.

"Now forbid me to see her, or say she can rule at my side, it changes nothing," Thor added.

"One son who wanted the throne too much..." Loki glanced away, distant, "...another who will not take it. Is this my legacy?"

"Loki died with honor," Thor stated.

Loki's attention darted back towards Thor, his brow tugging upward.

_Honor, he said...?_

"I shall try to do the same," Thor insisted, "Is that not legacy enough?"

Loki's head swayed... he nodded. Then his eye wandered without meaning to, resting on Mjolnir in Thor's right hand.

Thor followed his father's gaze. He bowed his head, understanding, and flipped the hammer upside down, extending to his father. It hummed in the short, sweeping motion.

Loki stared at it for a moment, transfixed.

Then he drew in a shuddered breath through his nose. He sighed deeply and waved his hand. "It belongs to you... if you are worthy of it."

"I shall try to be," Thor replied, grinding his chin.

Loki's left hand curled into a fist.

This was their goodbye.

He shook his head slowly. "I cannot give you my blessing. Nor can I wish you good fortune."

Thor nodded. "I know."

He bowed, dipping his head, before turning with his shoulders, taking his first step back up the hall.

Loki stopped him.

"If... I were proud of the man my son had become, even that I could not say."

Thor halted. He turned around, facing the throne, facing Loki.

"It would speak... only from my heart," Loki added, smiling with affection. "Go... my son."

Thor returned the same look. "Thank you, Father."

He strode away, back up the corridor lined with pillars that had been fully restored.

Loki watched as Thor's form grew distant, his crimson cape fading from sight, drenched in the white daylight that filled the balcony beyond the grand hall.

Loki maintained his affectionate smile.

Then he released a sigh that he had been holding, he knew not how long.

Focusing his mind, he released his illusion.

Green light shimmered, starting in his left hand. The ripple ran up his arm, through his head, past his shoulders... Odin's fading away...

...To reveal Loki, in his natural form. His soft smile remained, emerald eyes flashing.

The spark touched the spear in his right hand last. He sat fully transformed.

"No," he whispered, narrowing his eyes, "Thank _you._"

He had power now.

The power he would need to defeat his enemies.

An intense rush of energy filled him, flowing through his veins, causing his chest to swell; he felt a hundred pounds lighter. The feeling was exactly the same, the time when he took ahold of that silver steering wheel with his chained hands, guiding that flying ship across the windy lake, salty air blowing freely against his face till his eyes watered.

He could not help the grin that spread tight across his face.

_Caw!_

Above Loki's head, a large raven, black as midnight swooped into the hall. Its wings beat the air, claws extending as it landed on the armrest by Loki's elbow. A second raven followed the first, cawing as it landed on the other armrest.

Hugin and Munin, Odin's age-old spies.

They crooned their heads intelligently, eyes scanning the familiar prince, now their new master, also attracted by the shining, polished spear in his right hand.

Loki angled his head towards the bird on his left, ordering them in a rumbling whisper:

"Follow him."

VVV

_To be continued..._

_Please leave a review if you enjoyed!_

_ This was like the end of ACT 1 of the story. All the events of "Thor: the Dark World" have been concluded. Now we dive into the unknown, and the middle portion of the story. :D_

_ Notes: The prayer in the second segment was inspired by one in the book/film "The Thirteenth Soldier," which is, in turn, based off of an ancient Nordic prayer! _

_ The lines spoken by Frigga/Sif in the flashback that are not included in the film "Thor" were actually taken from the original "Thor" script! It's online, and I really recommend googling it. It contains all sorts of extra events and lines that serve as excellent head-canon material. Go check it out!_

_ Until next time! _


	5. Invisible

_ Hello, dear readers! Thank you for your reviews-I enjoyed every single one!_

_ The song quoted below is from the film soundtrack for Josie and the Pussycats. It goes perfectly with the character's perspective in the first section!  
_

_Here I give you: CHAPTER FIVE._

VVV

_CHAPTER FIVE_

_"INVISIBLE"_

_VVV_

_"This is the place in my heart_

_This is the place where I'm falling apart_

_Isn't this just where we met?_

_And is this the last chance that I'll ever get?_

_I wish I was lonely_

_Instead of just only_

_Crystal and see-through_

_And not enough to you."_

_\- You Don't See Me_

_VVV_

Asgard's crystal bridge flashed colorfully underneath Sif's boots as she marched.

She took a deep breath and lifted her head as she halted at the threshold of the city's golden gates. The double doors, marked at their center with a weaving trinity knot, towered high above her and the other warriors, Fandral and Volstagg who followed closely behind her.

Einherjar in the lookout towers above exchanged hand signals and called out orders.

Then the gates groaned, swinging steadily open. Sif backed up before stepping into the widening gap, and Fandral and Volstagg followed.

The morning sun shone exceptionally bright, reflecting off the surface of the rainbow bridge. Sif squinted, lifting her left hand to shield her eyes.

Behind her, the city gates boomed, shutting out the sound of ocean waves crashing against the outer wall. The crooning of seagulls died away, their calls replaced by city sounds: the humming of ships flying through the sky, the gurgle of fresh water rushing on either side of the bridge up toward the palace, and the never ending bustle of Asgard's citizens, humming tunes and enjoying each others' company as they went about their daily lives.

Yet, another sound touched Sif's ear, a sound that did not match the peaceful noise about her. Sif could not shake it off, as it scratched on her mind. A low, droning hum.

She glanced down at the Aether, the heavy weight which she carried with her right arm. The red substance itself shone through a thin slit that ran down the middle of a square block of stone encased in a metal frame with handles. Even though the Aether couldn't get out, she kept her arm rigid, so the box wouldn't touch her leg.

This matter was alive. It vibrated constantly, sending erratic pulses up her arm.

She quickened her pace.

The sooner it was in the vault, the better.

"Sif! Look, it's Thor!"

Fandral ran up to her side, pointing ahead.

Sif looked up, squinting, and saw that Fandral was right.

The crown prince appeared through a haze of sunlight, coming down the rainbow bridge carrying Mjolnir at his side, unaccompanied.

Coming closer, Sif noticed that his skin looked clear of blood. He had washed his face. He even looked taller as he walked.

"My friends," Thor greeted, standing with his friends as they gathered in a circle. "I had rather hoped I'd get a chance to see you again."

"I take it your meeting with your father went smoothly?" Sif asked.

Thor nodded, smiling proudly. "It did. Better than I had expected."

He gestured with Mjolnir in the direction of the Bifrost.

"Well, I'm afraid this is where we must say goodbye. Father has given me permission to go to Midgard, and that is where I am headed now."

Sif's eyes widened. Her body went absolutely rigid.

"What?" Fandral chuckled. "Midgard? You're leaving again already? But you just got here!"

Sif swallowed. She couldn't speak.

"He will have to make it back for his coronation," Volstagg offered, "Which, is bound to happen soon, I hope?"

Thor's lips parted. His eyebrows twitched together for a moment.

Something was wrong.

Sif knew that look. She hoped it didn't mean what she feared.

Thor glanced down at Mjolnir, replying "Actually, I know not when I will return. You see, there won't be a coronation. Not now. When I told Father, he understood that I cannot rule Asgard as king. I am better suited as its protector."

"No coronation?" Volstagg exclaimed.

Fendral's smile faltered. "Now, this is surely some kind of... some kind of jest! Surely you jest, Thor..."

"B-but that means..." Volstagg stuttered, "...no feast!"

"I am sorry, my dear friends," Thor sighed, "I know this is not the news you expected to hear. I shall be gone, but I am never out of reach. If you absolutely need me, only go to Heimdall and he knows where to find me. I will gladly return should there be any threat to Asgard. I look forward to when we shall fight alongside each other again. But until then, I must bid you a fond farewell."

Fandral and Volstagg stood speechless as Thor came around, first to Fandral, offering up his arm. Fandral tentatively clasped hands with Thor, in a warrior's salute, nodding sadly as Thor moved on to Volstagg.

Thor lifted his arm. Volstagg looked at it, and gladly shook it. Then he pulled Thor in, tight, embracing him. Thor slapped Volstagg's back warmly.

Then Thor approached Sif. She found it very hard to look in his eyes.

Halting in front of her, he lifted his arm, offering it to her. She did not know why, but it made her feel a pang in her chest. Perhaps, for a moment, she imagined that he was going to take her hand up in his and kiss it, instead.

Sif let out a shaky sigh as she lifted the arm that wasn't holding the Aether. She clasped his arm, their vambraces clanking together. He smiled pleasantly, but the muscles in her face didn't feel like moving.

"Goodbye, Lady Sif," he said plainly.

Then he allowed her arm to drop, and stepped around her. His cape brushed against her elbow as he passed her by.

She spun around, her face twisting as she watched him stride down the bridge in the direction of the Bifrost.

Her heart started slamming inside her chest.

How many times had she watched him go out there? How many nights did he ask Heimdall for a glimpse of Midgard, for a glimpse of her? And how many times had she promised herself she would never mention a word of it to him, that it would only make things worse?

How many times in the last year did she risk her life for him in battle? How many weeks and months did they spend together on an expedition?

It didn't matter. Because in the end, in between every battle that they fought, he would always return to that observatory and ask to see _her._

"I really hate to say it, but..." Volstagg spoke in a hushed tone. "Why he'd choose to be with a mortal over becoming king, is beyond me."

"I concur," Fandral muttered with a frown. "If I knew how to stop him, I would."

How many times had she told herself that she shouldn't worry... that it wouldn't end like this?

Sif gasped. "Wait."

She took the Aether into both of her hands and turned to Volstagg. She held it out to him. "Hold this for me. Go to the All-Father. I'll be there shortly. But first, I must speak with Thor."

Volstagg nodded, taking the Aether from her carefully by the handles.

"Of course. Maybe you can knock some sense into the lad."

"Thank you," Sif replied.

Sif turned, facing the gates. Curling her hands into fists, she started to sprint.

Her leather boots pounded lightly across the bridge's surface, spreading charges of polychrome light every time her foot touched its crystal surface. She kept her eyes on the red cloak in front of her. He had almost reached the city gates. Pressing her lips together, she made another push, running quickly before slowing into a fast walk.

Her heartbeat fluttered as she approached Thor from behind. He hadn't noticed her yet.

"Thor! Wait."

Thor didn't alter his pace. He glanced behind for a moment though, seeing her. But his gaze returned to the gates ahead.

"I thank you kindly for your assistance, Sif," Thor spoke lowly. "But I do not think I shall need any on this journey. The realms are quiet and at peace. You should remain here, and celebrate with the others."

Sif put more energy in her step until she matched Thor's pace. His steely blue eyes didn't waver from the golden gates ahead.

Sif spoke as steadily as she could, despite her panting breath.

"Thor... you must reconsider. You are Asgard's future king. We are all looking to you. You simply cannot leave. You have a duty!"

Thor's jawline tensed. "I still plan on fulfilling it," he breathed. "Someday, perhaps, I will be ready to take on that burden. But right now, this is my wish."

"You cannot live only for this moment, Thor," Sif pressed, "You must think of the future, too. Have you not thought about your father?"

Thor's jaw tightened. "He gave me permission to go."

"That's not the point. Have you thought about the burden you've left him with? Two years ago, before you were banished, he was ready for you to take it. We knew that the Odinsleep approached, and soon it will come to him again. He only grows wearier and wearier as the years go by, and he cannot do it, without his Queen, and without you!"

Thor broke his swift stride, slowing down to a halt. His knotted gaze lowered, meeting hers.

"I..." Thor murmured, "I know these things, Sif. But I... Much has changed since I was banished. All this time, I have waited patiently to return to Midgard, knowing that with the Bifrost destroyed, it might never occur. During that time, after Loki fell, I saw Father mourn for him. He mourned with silent tears, far away from our presence. Whenever I would try to comfort him, he cut our conversations short, preferring the solitude. Mother on the other hand... appreciated the company. So I wish I could help him now, but I know him. If he truly needed me to stay, he would have said so."

Sif swallowed tightly, the pang beneath her breastplate returning. "Just because he didn't tell you... doesn't mean it wasn't so. Sometimes people hide the truth out of fear."

Thor glanced away, toward the city gates and beyond. Sif's heart collided with her chest as her eyes caught sight of the observatory against the background of twinkling stars. Thor took a step in that direction. Sif's frame went rigid, and she stamped her foot.

"This isn't about Midgard, or any group of warriors that avenge," she bit out, "This is about _Jane_."

Thor turned with his shoulder, facing her. His blue eyes fell on her sternly.

"I made a promise that I have not kept yet. I promised I would return for her. So yes, I plan to go to her, and stay in her company."

"You only knew her for three days!"

Thor shifted his weight. He lifted an eyebrow.

"So?"

"So!... She cannot mean so much to you because you hardly even know her!"

"She found me when I was at my lowest," Thor rumbled, "she helped me, she changed me, and I never repaid her for all her kindness. I cannot make her wait yet again. I cannot stay here where I am not needed."

"You're wrong! We _do_ need you. _She's_ the one who doesn't need you. She's managed to survive, all on her own, without you thus far, and she'll do just fine without you now! Your gifts will be wasted there, and you will only put her in more danger if you go."

Thor shook his head, and began turning away. But Sif's arm flew up, snatching his arm with sudden force.

"Listen to me! Please. You will lose _everything._ Your birthright, your future, people's trust... You are not thinking. Especially on those who've known you the longest, who truly care about you, not just say that they do!"

Thor ripped his arm from her grasp. "I do not see why this upsets you so!" he exclaimed. "This is my personal decision. I harm no one in it, and yet you look upon me with utter disdain and disrespect."

"I do not!" Sif cried, "I have _ever_ held you in the _highest_ regard!"

"Then what is the problem? Do you think me_ incapable_ of making wise decisions...?"

"Of course not! You misunderstand—"

"I know... I've never been cunning like my brother, or as wise as my father..."

"Thor, you are capable of anything, if you'd only just stop to _think!_"

His eyelashes fluttered. He jerked away, clenching his jaw.

"You speak to me... as if I were a child."

Sif's chest tightened. She drew in an unsteady breath.

"I know my words have not been easy to hear..." she began to apologize.

Thor did not look at her. His hands clenched into fists. Sif's eyes began to sting, but she made herself continue.

"I only tell you the truth—" she began, before biting back, her throat closing.

Thor shook his head, taking a step away from her.

Without thinking, she blurted out the rest in one quick, strangled breath. "—because I love you!"

Thor stopped.

He turned, his eyes widening...

Staring at her like he'd never seen her before in his life.

Sif's chin quivered, her legs suddenly growing weak.

She quickly straightened, lengthening her spine. Clicking her heels together, she lowered her gaze.

"Forgive me," she uttered, "I've spoken far too boldly."

Lifting her fist, she thumped her breastplate. Then she took a steady bow and turned around, leaving Thor standing at the gate. She strode back up the rainbow bridge as swiftly as she could.

Immediately, her eyes began to sting. She gasped, unable to breathe.

She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a watery gasp.

She marched even faster. Then, once she felt that he was far away enough behind her, she began to run.

Then she allowed herself to cry.

VVV

Loki sat at an angle in the king's throne, staring up at the ceiling that towered above him, its knotted patterns completely out of focus.

He let out a throaty sigh, shutting his eyes.

He swore, if he had to sit through one more babbling report about another demolished building Thor had gracefully smashed into during their daring escape, he might just explode.

His left shoulder had already started cramping. His lower back ached, and he experienced a dull, lingering headache.

Loki sighed again, rubbing a deep circle into his temple with his thumb.

This whole king business was getting to be quite tedious.

All morning, it was one request after another, after another... projects that required his consent, construction updates, prisoners still at large after the breakout... and in between such fascinating sessions: long, uneventful periods of staring up at the ceiling.

His eyelids grew heavy, drooping from time to time.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture, knowing that if he allowed himself to doze for even a minute, one of the men standing guard might wonder if he had fallen into the Odinsleep. They'd grab his arm and try to shake it. Of course, in an instant, the illusion would drop.

Armor clanked as a pair of guards entered the hall.

Loki's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling as he addressed them.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked impatiently.

"My King, we just received this object, a scroll from one of the laborers. He says he discovered it while working on the reconstruction of the throne. Says he found it within the substructure, at ground level."

Loki blinked, suddenly focusing. He leaned forward in his chair.

"I'm sorry, what did he find?"

"A scroll, in this canister. He looked inside, but the runes were too old for him to read. We cannot decipher them either."

"Interesting," Loki mused, "I'll have a look. Bring it to me."

The guard nodded and ascended the stone steps and stopped just a foot away from the royal chair.

Loki eyed the wooden canister, studying its dark cedar surface covered with faded spirals resembling water or licks of flames.

He tentatively reached out with his left hand, making sure that his skin didn't touch the guard's.

"Thank you," Loki uttered. He safely took the canister from the guard and lowered his arm.

The guard waited, remaining still.

"You are dismissed," Loki clarified, glaring at him. The guard responded by lifting a fist to his chest and retreating. Loki shot a glance around the rest of the room. "All of you!"

The Einherjar standing at the base of the stairs and in the columns beyond perked up. Picking up their spears and thumping their chests, they began to march out of the hall.

When their footsteps finally trailed far off, fading into an echo, Loki sighed.

He then set Gungnir down, propping it up against a golden armrest. Taking the canister into both of his hands, he carefully twisted the top off.

He peered inside. It smelled of an ancient tomb. He reached in and touched the sheet of paper rolled into a scroll. It felt thick between his pinching fingers, like animal hide.

He pulled forth the parchment and set the canister down at his feet. The paper crackled as he unrolled it, flattening it over his lap, studying it. Dense runes covered the right half of the canvas. A large circular map that resembling a star chart occupied the left side.

The longer Loki stared at it though, the more he realized that this was not like the star charts found on Asgard. And yet, the runes matched Asgardian writing from the reign of King Bor.

If Loki squinted, he could make out the world tree—its faint shape cut across the chart—but between the systems he recognized, others were drawn. Systems that hadn't been discovered or recognized by Asgardian scholars.

Suddenly, the starchart shifted before his very eyes. Black lines on the page rippled, the paper turned darker, and six or seven shining dots appeared, scattered randomly across the map of stars.

Loki's head spun.

This map...

He'd seen this map before.

Once...

_ Loki panted, watching his feet as he climbed._

_ His knees ached, so he lifted them slowly. His side throbbed, so he leaned forward; his ribcage still felt like fractured glass. _

_ Blue lights lit up the spiraling steps, shining a dim light on his feet as he ascended toward a floating island in darkness. _

_ He had no railing to support him. Nothing but the void of space waited if he fell. He took one step at a time, his hands straight out in front of him to maintain balance. He tried to avoid the thought,__that if he didn't lift his foot high enough, he'd fall straight through one of the giant gaps between the steps... _

_ Even though he shivered in the cold, even though he barely hung onto consciousness, something familiar filled the air the higher he climbed... _

_ Magic. _

_ It returned to him, little by little, deep inside his body, filling him. In through his heart, running through his veins and into his bones. The air grew warmer. He could feel his fingers and his toes again._

_ His heartbeat quickened._

_ Every nerve in his body electrified, sensing the unseen tendrils multiply around him, weaving their strings into the inner fabric of his being, snapping together with his, already doing their work, starting to fix his wounds. _

_ Breathlessly, he climbed faster, using his hands to steady himself, and to push himself up from the steps in front of him._

_ If he wanted to live, he had to reach the top._

_ Reaching out in front of him, he climbed..._

_ Finally, he achieved the summit. _

_ Groping around, he found a boulder at waist level and leaned up against it. He stood still in the deep blue light, catching his breath. _

_ Loki's gaze darted from shadow to shadow, searching for signs of life. Mist rose from his chapped lips. The air remained deathly quiet. _

_ Then, Loki noticed a shadow on the opposite end of the island. _

_ The giant silhouette of a head, with broad shoulders._

_ Loki held his breath. He stared at the shadow without moving a muscle. _

_ But the shadow didn't move either. _

_ It remained still as a statue._

_ What if it _was_ a statue? _

_ Loki released the breath that he held, but remained quiet._

_ He watched the shadow for several minutes, his heartbeat slowing down to a steady rhythm. _

_ He set his jaw. Using his elbows, he carefully pushed his body off the boulder, grimacing when a sharp pain hit him in the ribs as he straightened. _

_ Watching the shadowed figure, Loki slid his foot forward across the gravel floor, inching closer..._

_ The shadow still hadn't moved. _

_ Loki tilted his head, squinting. _

_ The shadow held something in its hand, out in front of itself. Like a sheet of paper, or a scroll..._

_ Loki took another step forward, crossing from uneven stone onto smooth stone. As his toes touched the level ground, the blue lights vanished._

_ He froze, suddenly in the dark._

_ The next instant the lights flashed on, but no longer blue. _

_ They glowed a fiery red._

HISSS!

_ Burning steam hit Loki in the face. _

_ He staggered backward, gasping. His hands flew up to shield himself..._

_ More hot steam rose from the ground, engulfing him, suffocating him._

_ The air turned black, and the mist encircled him like a swirling funnel cloud. _

_ He was trapped. _

_ His world began to spin, blasts of steam beating him in from every side. He covered his head, clenching his teeth, unable to move. _

_ Panic started to take hold of him,__so he focused on his breathing. Shutting his eyes, he curled in on himself, every sense retreating deep into darkness._

_ Through the darkness, came a sound. _

_ A voice, as faint as the voice of his own thoughts. It spoke a single word: _

Laufeyson...

_ Loki's eyes widened._

_ "Who said that?" he asked._

_ Then another voice echoed it, from behind him..._

Laufeyyysonnn...

_ Loki whipped his head around, seeing no one. _

_ "Who are you?" Loki gasped, "What do you want from me?"_

_ The voices replied in a hiss, slithering through the air. Then they split into various pitches, surrounding him, taunting him, forcing themselves into his mind... _

Laufeyson... Laufeyson... Laufeyson...

_ Suddenly, Loki's vision flashed, and there he saw him. _

_ Laufey._

_ With his bloodshot eyes, blue skin, and sharpened teeth. _

_ Loki shivered, even in the intense heat. _

_ "No..." Loki breathed. "I am not... Laufeyson... I am Odins-" _

_ His vision flashed. This time he saw a hand... his own hand, turning icy blue. _

Lauuufeysonnn...

_ Loki couldn't get enough air. _

_ Lightheaded, his body teetered, and he crashed to the ground, landing on his knees. A voice came close, closer than his own breath, and sighed..._

Unworthy...

_ "Stop!" Loki cried, covering his ears. _

_ But they wouldn't._

_ He couldn't shut them out. They bounced back and forth in his head, over and over, chanting... _

Unworthy... unworthy... unworthy...!

_ "STOP!" Loki screamed. _

_ Silence._

_ The black smoke dissipated. _

_ He opened his eyes, pulling his hands from his ears. _

_ A crumbling sound. _

_ Red mist swished through the air, the entrance of a massive form disturbing it._

_ Panting, Loki lifted his head. _

_ A pitch black shadow slowly emerged. Its two eyes stared out from the darkness, burning with torch-like intensity. _

_ They glowed crystal blue. _

_ Below the eyes, a crack of a line appeared, widening until it formed a row of shining, grinning teeth._

_ Red light gleamed off the top of the giant's helmet and shoulders, outlining his tall, massive form. _

_ Loki swallowed a knot in his throat, staring up at the giant who doubled_—_tripled him in size. _

_ Then came a slow, metallic chuckle. _

_ It chilled the atmosphere. It sent vibrations across the ground, up Loki's knees. He could feel it in his bones, piercing his skull._

_ "You are a long way from home, tiny prince." _

_The voice rumbled deep, deeper than the very bowels of the earth. It spoke slow and deliberate, each word rolling forth with the low purr of a predatorial beast._

_ Loki's eyes watered. He answered back in a choke. "__You—you__ know who I am?"_

_ The giant remained still, only tilting his head. His glowing eyes never wavered from Loki._

_ And Loki desperately wanted to look away. _

_ But he couldn't, he couldn't move. He sat, frozen stiff, his fingers spreading wide at his sides._

_ The giant finally answered him._

_ "Indeed. You are Laufey's boy." _

_ Loki swallowed thickly, watching the giant's smile grow wide again, white contrasting sharply against the pitch black. _

_ "You caught my attention," the giant explained. "I heard the cries of the dying souls on Jotunheim, as you ripped their world apart. You killed Laufey, your own blood. I watched you as you turned him to dust."_

_ Loki's stomach clenched. _

_ The giant's grin faded. "And then I watched as they threw you away. Like a piece of rubbish. They watched you fall into the abyss and thought, just as you did, that you were certainly dead... You came very, very close. You would have been food for the stars, were it not for me. I pulled the strings. I plucked you out of that hole, and I brought you here, into the palm of my hand." _

_ The giant's gaze remained fixed on Loki. Then he asked, "Do you not know who I am, little one?"_

_ Loki's lips parted. He let out a quivering breath. His mind raced, searching his mental archives for a creature such as this. _

_ The giant advanced on Loki, and the ground trembled. _

_ Loki cowered backward, eyes widening. _

_ The giant stopped just a few paces in front of Loki's knees, dwarfing him. _

_ "I am Thanos. The Infinite Titan." He smiled down at Loki, lifting his chin in a scowl. "And now that you know who I am, I will kill you." _

_ Loki stared, eyebrows twisting. _

_ "Kill_ _me?" Loki gawked. A breath, like a broken laugh escaped his parched throat, "__Wh__y bother to save me, just to kill me?"_

_ Thanos chuckled, the sinister sound__ reverberating through the air like murky black tidal waves. _

_ Needles pricked Loki's skin. He shivered. _

_ "You're nearly dead anyway," the titan laughed, "Killing you now might even be considered a mercy. But if you must know _my_ reasoning... In short: It fascinates me... delights me. Death... is the thing that gives life its purpose. Especially if that life lacks any purpose, or use."_

_ Loki's heart hammered, as a shadowy arm rose over his head, forming itself into a giant fist, ready to crush him._

_ Loki shuffled backwards._

_ "No, no, wait," he protested, lifting his hands, "Let me be of use."_

_ Thanos' fist froze midair. _

_ "Let me be of use." Loki repeated._

_ "How could you be of any use to me?" Thanos scoffed, "You have nothing. You _are_ nothing."_

_ "Knowledge," Loki offered. "I__—__ I have knowledge. You may have it... everything that I know."_

_ Thanos' teeth glimmered. "And you think that your knowledge is anything compared to mine?"_

_ Loki shook his head. "Of course not. I'm certain a millennia of my studies is little in comparison to your age-long life span. But permit me to explain: I have harnessed a skill that no one, to my knowledge, in the entire universe has ever mastered... except me." _

_ Thanos' shadowy fist wavered. _

_ Maintaining eye contact with him, Loki lowered his arms momentarily, carefully pushing off the ground, rising to one knee. He barely winced as he rose to his feet, despite the terrible pain in his ribcage. He put his hands back up, continuing. _

_ "On Asgard, I was known as the master of magic. Not only have I perfected what my ancestors taught, but I also secretly discovered the paths between realms. And even though my magic is... depleted, in wandering this barren realm... I know, if given a short amount of time to heal, I shall return to my fullest potential. And, if my magic does not interest you, I am also skilled in all manners of war and strategic intelligence. Only grant me this: shelter, a place to replenish my strength. And then, I swear that I will show you everything. You cannot benefit at all from this, if you choose to get rid of me now."_

_ Thanos kept his glowing, crystal eyes on Loki's for an eternity. Loki's throat tightened and every fiber of his being pleaded with him to turn away from that terrible gaze. _

_ Finally, Thanos withdrew his fist, his lips parting, twisting into a teethy grin._

_ "I do admit: I find your persistence infinitely amusing."_

_ Loki steadily lowered his arms, his fingers spread at his sides._

_ "Now. Stand tall," Thanos ordered, "Let me have a look at you."_

_ The titan advanced on him again, his towering form immediately overshadowing Loki's and the air dropped in temperature. _

_ Loki straightened. He took on his best posture, his throat tightening as he lifted his chin. The titan began to circle him. Loki focused again on calming his own breathing._

_ When he inhaled, he absorbed a strange, awful scent. Like something burning... _

_ Or rotting. _

_ The odor became sharper as the titan drew closer, crushing gravel beneath him, around Loki's feet. Loki tried not to choke from the second whiff he got, like poisonous gas building up in his lungs. He realized the air smelled of..._

_ Sulfur. _

_ Thanos' eyes studied every inch of Loki's frame, his face and his armor... down to the edge of his tattered cape touching the ground. Loki bit down on his cheek, lifting his chin even higher, as if his head were being pulled by a string, ignoring every bit of pain in his abdomen._

_ Thanos continued to circle, his heavy footsteps halting just behind Loki's back. The ground shook._

_ Without seeing, Loki could feel the shadowy presence, and those eyes on the back of his neck._

_ Loki suppressed a shudder, his chest locking. _

_ Then came a deep, rushing sound... a breath-like wind that tugged at the edge of his cape, then pulled on his entire body._

_ Pulling him backwards, towards Thanos._

_ Loki's mind staggered. _

_ But the rushing sound snagged, and Thanos exhaled. A gentle gust pushed Loki forward, and he stood back on balance. _

_ "Hm," Thanos murmured, amused. _

_ His giant shadow appeared again in Loki's peripheral vision and Loki mentally prepared himself for the worst. _

_ "I rarely exercise mercy," Thanos explained. "However, this time, I shall let you live. You may work for me. I lend you some of my knowledge, as you lend me yours."_

"My King."

Loki shook himself, his mind returning to the present.

He opened his eyes, seeing everything on fire.

Loki sat still, watching three bright yellow figures approaching.

He blinked hard, twisting his head.

The palace slowly faded back to its natural golden color, and Loki saw Volstagg, Fandral and Sif standing in the hall.

Loki rolled up the scroll with quivering hands, quickly stuffing it back into its canister and placing it next to his leg, on the seat.

He took up Gungnir in his arm again, and landed his gaze on the three warriors standing at the bottom of the steps.

"Here is the Aether, My King," Volstagg declared, lifting a bronze box in his hands with its red glowing center. It drew Loki's immediate attention.

Loki thinned his lips into a line, his forehead tensing.

Volstagg spoke again. "I presume that it is Your Majesty's will for us to take it down to the vaults, where it may be kept safe among the other relics?"

Loki shook his head.

"No, actually."

Volstagg lowered the box in his arms, "Then, what would you have us do with it?"

"Take it away," Loki replied, "Take it back to Heimdall. Tell him I no longer think it wise, to keep it here, now that all of the nine realms know of its power. Someday they might come searching for it, and attack us. Just tell him I want him to pick a spot. I do not care where he chooses. I'm sure he knows of a thousand places where it may be kept safe. Therefore, you three must take it wherever he chooses, and see that it is properly secured, without complications. We do not want to make it impossible for ourselves to get it back, should we need to relocate it somewhere else."

"I see," Volstagg replied, "So after we return, we shall report its location to you...?"

"No. Don't." Loki exhaled harshly. "You need not tell me of its location. I fully trust Heimdall's judgment, in this. Now, go. I have many affairs to attend to."

"As you wish, My King."

Volstagg and Fandral ducked out of the hall, but Sif remained standing as she was, gazing at her feet.

"My King, forgive me, but I wished to speak with thee."

Loki's hand slipped an inch down Gungnir. No Einherjar currently stood in the hall. It was only Sif and Loki.

"Yes," Loki replied hesitantly, maintaining Odin's voice, "What is it?"

She took a step forward, hardly lifting her eyes.

"I must ask for your forgiveness in advance, if I speak too boldly. But I cannot keep these concerns to myself."

"Your concerns... regarding Thor," Loki ventured.

Sif lifted her head, her cheeks turning scarlet.

"I know you gave Thor your permission to leave, I know," she explained, "But his friends and I cannot help but be concerned... troubled. All of Asgard will be troubled too, when they learn of his absence. I could not persuade him to change his mind, but thought that perhaps, you... if he can be reached..."

"I tried my best, Lady Sif," Loki answered. "There was no stopping him."

"Did he say when, or if he plans on returning?"

"No. He did not say."

Sif nodded, eyes drifting down, towards the ground again.

"I see," she answered shakily.

Loki examined her face, now noticing the redness encircling her eyes. He sighed.

"I am sorry, Sif. Believe me... you aren't the only one who will be missing him. Indeed, I will. But we must not let our grief cripple us. It is vital that we channel it for constructive purposes. And it just so happens, that I may have an assignment suited especially for you. It may help you take your mind off of these matters."

"An assignment," Sif echoed, her shoulders going square. "What sort of an assignment?"

"The prison guard are still searching for a band of prisoners that escaped during the skirmish, possibly through a hole in the convergence, into other realms. It will be your job to lead the search, and recapture those prisoners. As you know, they are vicious, stubborn, and will not come along without a fight. You have my permission to use as much force as necessary. Have some fun."

Sif smiled softly, for an instant.

She beat her fist against her chest, and bowed.

"Very well, Your Majesty. I shall try my best."

VVV

THREE WEEKS LATER

Loki inhaled, catching a whiff of the musty stench of the underground.

He descended lower and lower, following two Einherjar, leading him down a flight of stone steps... leading him down into the dungeons, once again.

They halted at the bottom of the steps, facing two heavily bolted metal doors.

Loki swallowed as they were unlocked, taking a deep breath before entering.

The sight that greeted him gave him an eerie sense of familiarity.

Recent familiarity.

White, glowing cells, lined either side of the corridor before him. Their yellow forcefields never turning off, offering zero privacy and no barrier of sound, making for many sleepless nights. The dank odor in these chambers spoke of a different age in Asgard's history, the bleached artifice of the cells broken up by torch bowls and intricately carved pillars which supported the low, windowless ceiling.

Loki kept himself at a distance from the guards leading him, and those guarding their posts. If one of them were to touch him, or even brush against the edge of his cloak, they'd find out the truth. That their king was, in fact, an escaped prisoner himself.

Passing the corner cell to his left, Loki couldn't help but glance inside his old prison cell, which now lay empty and bare. The walls had been scrubbed clean, the broken glass swept, and the floor emptied of all of the broken furniture and ripped stacks of books.

Two weeks ago, he had ordered the guards who were emptying it to take the books, or what was left of them, and place them in "Prince Loki's" old, abandoned bedchambers.

Everything else, he ordered them to burn.

Loki kept his hands folded behind his back, following the guards past the rest of the cells, until they stopped before a line of about twelve prisoners who stood in front of another set of double doors.

They stood, many of them with their heads bowed, their hands chained out in front of them. Clothed in ragged patches of armor, this group of marauders, thieves and traitors awaited their final inspection before being readmitted into their cells.

Loki smirked at the irony. The last time he stood here, he had been on the receiving end of the inspection. He had feigned indifference then, rolling his eyes during questioning, staring down every single guard, every one of them squirming beneath his gaze.

Even with the roles reversed, things had hardly changed. The prisoners knew he, as king, had the power to imprison them or order their deaths. So they knew not to even look at him.

Loki heard familiar footsteps. Glanced up, he saw Lady Sif enter the hall, bringing with her a female prisoner whom she roughly placed at the end of the line. This prisoner had not only been chained, but also gagged with a copper silencer. Her long, ruby hair hung down over her shoulders, hiding her forehead and eyes.

Sif marched up to Loki's end of the line, saluting him.

"Greetings, My King."

"Greetings, Sif," Loki replied, gesturing around. "I see you've returned all the prisoners without any fatalities. Well done."

"It was not easy," Sif exhaled, "Some of the prisoners were not so easily located, and some were more... shall we say... stubborn than others."

Loki lifted an eyebrow. "Oh? How stubborn?"

"One prisoner, in particular... She finally surrendered, after causing considerable havoc upon Midgard."

"Midgard. Really?" Loki asked.

"Yes. She stands over there..."

Sif led him to the far end of the line, stopping in front of the female prisoner, with the gag. The prisoner snapped her head up, tossing her red hair to one side. Her green eyes flashed indignantly, staring back at Loki, her hands turning into fists inside her chains.

Sif gestured toward the prisoner. "Her name is Lorelei."

_ Lorelei. Lorelei..._

Loki recognized the name, and that face.

He narrowed his gaze, glaring right back into those haughty green eyes that seemed to sneer at him.

_ Lorelei. _

She must have been imprisoned on the opposite end of the corridor from him, for he never saw her once during his stay.

"When was she first admitted into the dungeons?" Loki asked, directing the question at one of the guards.

After the guard pulled up the prisoner's information through a holographic chart, he replied. "She was a citizen of Asgard, My King, until she was imprisoned some six centuries years ago, for misconduct... using forbidden forms of magic, and for breaking into the royal treasury."

Loki glanced back at the prisoner.

_ Lorelei..._

Yes. He knew _exactly_ who she was.

Loki dipped his head, smiling to himself.

"Put her in a heavily guarded cell... the empty, corner cell. She mustn't be allowed to escape so easily again."

VVV

_ To be continued... _

_ Please leave a review if you enjoyed, I love reading your thoughts, and I reply to each and every review! Thanks for all your reviews so far! :)_

_ Notes: There's been a lot of marvel news lately, so I just wanted to give you the head's up: this story will continue to match the movie canon as close as possible, but will continue on its own original path. I cannot attempt to match up with the plots of the future Avenger and Thor films before they come out. But I'm excited to take these characters places we've never seen them before. I cannot wait to share the rest of this story with you all. Stay tuned!_


	6. Resistance

_ Finally, an update! Due to one very busy college semester, I had to take a break. But now, I'm back! Thank you for all, for your patience and reviews. They keep me going.  
_

_ Enjoy!_

VVV

CHAPTER SIX

"RESISTANCE"

_VVV_

"_So far away from where you are_

_These miles have torn us worlds apart_

_And I miss you _

_So far away from where you are_

_I'm standing underneath the stars_

_And I wish you were here _

_I miss the years that were erased_

_I miss the way the sunshine would light up your face_

_I miss all the little things_

_I never thought that they'd mean everything to me_

_And I miss you_

_And I wish you were here_."

_-Lifehouse, _From Where You Are

_VVV_

Thick clouds moved swiftly across the gray skies overhead; the afternoon sun hidden from sight.

Drizzling water filled the air—not exactly rain, but not like fog either.

Thor kept his head lowered as he watched his black dress shoes tread on silvery puddled cobblestone. His eyelashes fluttered against the gathering moisture and the mild wind that blew against his frame.

He clenched his fists, suppressing a shiver in his limbs. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of washed earth. A scent that reminded him of the color _green..._

Jane strolled around the castle courtyard with him, by his side. Though sometimes, he found himself following her lead—she was his guide, after all, and she was taking him on this tour—falling back so that he strode just one step behind her.

The courtyard stood walled in by white stone, filled with a grassy clearing dotted with yellow daffodils—some of them drooping, nearing the end of their bloom.

Thor wore a pair of loose, gray trousers and a black short-sleeved shirt with a v-neck underneath a maroon coat that reached down to his knees. He had tied his hair in a ponytail. Despite the simplicity, he felt less comfortable in these clothes than he ever had in his dress armor.

His right hand tightened again, forming itself into a fist. He forced himself to relax, but his hand felt strangely empty without the weight of Mjolnir in its grasp. The hammer, he had left on Jane's "coffee table," in front of the couch that faced the fireplace. He had set it there the day he had left Asgard, the day he returned to Midgard to be with Jane.

A fortnight had already passed, spent in Jane's company. And in the mornings when he would rise from the guest chamber and see his hammer sitting still on the edge of the coffee table, he would feel a slight tremor in his right hand, one he fought to forget.

But, since he saw no need, no purpose in picking it up and using it...

He let it sit there, as it was. And thus it had remained undisturbed there, these last several weeks.

On this particular day, Jane took the day off of work, where she performed her research, and suggested that they visit the "Tower of London" together. It was an ancient Midgardian castle, she told him, with a rich history and a tower full of jewels.

"Erik took me there once, when I was younger," Jane said, as she sat at the steering wheel, driving them to the tower earlier that day, "and I haven't been there since. I'll never forget when we got to the top of the tower, and saw the royal jewels...You've never seen anything like them!" She caught herself. Rolling her eyes slightly, she gestured at him and smiled. "Or—at least, not on _Earth._ I'm sure the jewels up in Asgard are exquisite, and would put these to shame."

Thor thought he had heard a shakiness in her voice the moment she uttered the word "Asgard." He did not know how to reply, so he did not meet her gaze, staring at the traffic signs and the moving cars outside his window for the rest of the ride.

Once they arrived at the castle, they passed through some form of security where they searched through Jane's bag, searching through all her personal belongings before granting them entrance. Surely, Thor reasoned, they would've asked him to surrender Mjolnir if he had brought it with him that day. He supposed he should be glad that it wasn't going to be an issue.

Still, everywhere they went, Thor felt the occasional stare from a stranger or a castle guard. He followed Jane closely through the thick crowds of visitors in the outer court, until they entered into a wide open space full of green grass, yellow flowers and ash trees that shaded the cobblestone path, a place they called Tower Green.

Presently, a black shape flew across Thor's vision.

_Caw!_

Thor stopped in his tracks, watching the bird as it landed on the rod iron fence on the edge of the path.

It crowed again, craning its neck so that its right eye stared up at Thor, observing him intently...

"Thor?" Jane called, turning around, realizing he had stopped following. "What is it, Thor?" she asked, stepping closer to him. Then she followed Thor's gaze and noticed the raven. Her features jumped. "Oh! Hey there, big guy. I didn't see you."

The raven shook itself, its feathers ruffling, cawing once as it eyed Jane with its eyes halfway closed.

"Here, I'm gonna take a quick picture of this one before it flies away," she whispered as she pulled her "iPhone" out of her coat pocket with care so she wouldn't disturb the creature.

Thor had grown accustomed to the small metal device that Jane carried around, and little by little learned of its many uses. He noted how she used it to converse with people from afar, and also to show him various images, illusions and texts on its small screen. She used it frequently, though Jane made a point in telling him that she didn't have an addiction to the "texting" feature, like Darcy did.

"Please hold still," she pleaded with the bird as she bit her lip and pressed her thumb down against the screen. The phone made a faint clicking sound, and she grinned with satisfaction. "Got it. I'll have to text this one to Selvig, later when there's wifi."

Thor raised his brow at her still unfamiliar language, drawing his attention once more to the black bird, preening its perfectly long, ink-black feathers.

Jane watched the bird too, slipping her phone back in her pocket. "Gosh, the ravens here are so cool. They keep them here, you know," she said, explaining to Thor. "It's all based around a myth... a superstition. That if the ravens ever leave Tower Green, the whole kingdom will collapse and fall to ruin. So they keep a small group of them here, on purpose."

Thor looked at her. "And how do they keep them from flying away?"

Jane shrugged with one shoulder. "They clip their wings."

"I see."

"Hey, Thor," Jane jumped up suddenly, pulling her phone back out, "we should get a picture together, you and I, with the tower behind us."

Thor perked up, glanced up at the tower and back down at her. "I... Yes. Of course," he said, shifting his weight. "Where should I...?"

"Right there is fine," Jane motioned for him to stay put. "I just need to find someone who can take the picture... Hey, uh, sir?"

Waving at an older gentleman who strode by, he stopped and answered, "yes?"

"Sorry," she cringed, showing a twinge of embarrassment, "but would you mind taking our photo?"

"Oh, sure," he replied kindly, receiving the phone and standing in Jane's place. Jane thanked him and flew to Thor's side. Soon her arm was around Thor's torso, and they stood facing the man, smiling broadly as the man held out the phone and peered down through the glasses on his nose to work the device.

Meanwhile, Thor saw, out of the corner of his eye, another black raven swoop down from the sky, crying...

_Caw! _

Beating its wings, it landed right next to the other one that sat perched on the railing.

Thor knew it was not polite to glance away from the phone in the elder man's hands, and he did not want to ruin Jane's picture. So he kept perfectly still until the man smiled and said, "Say 'cheese'!"

"Cheese!" Jane replied brightly, wrapping her arm tightly around Thor's torso. A second before the man snapped the photo, Thor spread a wide, toothless smile.

When Jane's arm withdrew, Thor let down his smile, and let out a pent up breath.

Jane went up to the man again, thanked him and waved him goodbye, then checked her phone to see how the picture turned out.

And Thor took the opportunity to direct his focus toward the two ravens, who gazed straight back at him with their beady black eyes, a glimmer of recognition shining through.

And suddenly it hit him, that he recognized these birds. They were Father's. Hugin and Munin.

Thor watched as their dark eyes seemed to soften, their beaks parting. Then they both crooned softly, in turns, and Thor's mind began to reel, discerning words. A sort of message in their song.

_Give thought, give thought,_ the first one seemed to convey.

_Remember, remember, _murmured the second.

Before their crooning stopped, Thor felt his throat begin to tighten, and heat flooded his cheeks.

_If you'd only just stop to _think_..._

The words echoed through his mind, as the birds suddenly lifted their beaks, spread their wings, and sprang up together.

They flew, high above the ash trees, over roofs and the castle walls, finally disappearing out of Thor's sight through a fog in the skies overhead. Their cawing died away, too, and only then could Thor swallow, releasing a tightness in his neck muscles.

"Hey," a voice said, as a slight hand touched his arm. "Is something the matter?"

Jane.

Thor blinked, twice, finally lowering his gaze, landing it on her soft, brown features. He swallowed thickly, showing her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I am fine, Jane," he answered, telling an outright lie. "But, thank you."

Her mouth narrowed. She held his gaze.

But she seemed to buy it, for soon she nodded and lowered her touch till she found his hand.

"Come along, then. Let's go see the exhibits before the Tower closes."

She pulled him by the hand, completing the perimeter of Tower Green, walking past several plaques and monuments dedicated to prisoners, martyrs and rulers from ages past.

As they neared the White Tower which held the castle's jewels and many treasures, Jane slowed, reading a sign aloud which marked one of the gates leading out of the courtyard. The sign read Bloody Tower, 1225, and she could not withhold a gasp as soon as she read the date.

"Wow," she let out a chuckle, remarking, "This place is _old!_"

Thor's mouth parted, as if he were about to speak, before shutting itself again. He glanced down at her, and his face felt hot, suddenly.

He did not wish to remind her of his age, though he knew that he exceeded the age of this palace by at least three centuries.

No, he did not wish to remind her. It would only upset her, even though he was certain she knew, and had said such a thing in haste.

"That's the White Tower," Jane said as her hand slipped out of Thor's grasp, and she pointed out the castle building made of light tan stone, occupying the center of the square. "That's where the exhibits are...including the royal jewels." She waved at Thor, telling him to follow as she led the way up the cobblestone path, towards the archway marking the main entrance. "Let's go!"

Entering inside, they came upon a grand hallway, lined on either side with wooden horses that displayed silver armored riders, holding javelins and spears. Above the lifeless knights hung red velvet banners bearing different names, each embroidered with golden thread.

Thor approached one of the wooden horses, and stopped in front of it, his focus on the rider's helmet; made of polished silver, with two thin rectangles as holes for the eyes.

"What sort of warrior would wear a suit of armor such as this?" Thor asked Jane, who backtracked a few steps to meet him where he stood.

Stammering for a moment, she then answered, "One from the medieval ages, I suppose? It's not from our time. People don't really dress that way anymore."

Thor gave her a nod of approval, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Good. The way the faceplate covers most of his vision seems impractical. I'd rather risk getting hit on the head, than enter a battle blind like that."

"Yeah, I guess that does seem rather silly," Jane said in agreement, "though I doubt any of these kings wanted to be recognized in battle, either. Maybe it served a double purpose."

Jane took a step, beginning to walk away, when Thor spoke.

"Wait. These suits... They belonged to your kings?" he asked, his forehead in a knot.

Jane smiled. "Well, Kings of _Britain,_ yes. I think these are all of them... Look, see? Those are their names, on the banners."

Thor followed her gaze up, and glanced at the names from one end of the hall to the other, a terrible sting filling his chest.

He saw too many names. Dozens of them.

There shouldn't be so many names, he thought...

Knowing that, on Asgard, there had only ever been_ three_: King Buri of old, who witnessed the dawn of their realm; King Bor Burison, who defended Asgard from the forces of darkness. And King Odin Borson, Thor's father.

And Thor would be the fourth.

The sting in his chest only grew when he looked down, and regarded Jane, with her petite form and stature almost that of a child compared to Thor's. Her overall form seemed so very _fragile._ And, like these kings, also so very _fleeting..._

Already ahead of him, Jane waved for him to follow once again, calling, "C'mon! You're gonna love this!"

Thor pushed down the ache, lowering his arms, and following her down the rest of the aisle. After rounding a corner, they entered a spacious chamber made of brick-colored stone, filled with all kinds of armor on display.

Thick, glass cases protected most of them, and they came in every shape and size imaginable. Some suits were made for royalty, or for warriors, although some were made for steeds. Some were even crafted to fit a child.

Spears, swords, javelins, bows, knives hung from the walls by the hundreds.

Following Jane into the exhibit, Thor passed by most of the glass cases, uninterested in the clunky armor that covered too much of the body, while made of materials that offered little real protection. Most of the designs also appeared too foreign. Nothing one would find in the halls of the Aesir.

Then, Thor paused before one of the taller glass cases which held a large, circular shield.

"Jane," he uttered. "Come... You must see this."

His words made her glance up from the display she was currently absorbed in.

"Coming," she answered, her eyes still scanning the rest of the information in the case in front of her before she made herself tear away from it, sighing. With quick, long strides she reached Thor's side, emitting yet another sigh. "Yeah, what is it?"

Thor pointed out the shield behind the glass, and exclaimed, "It is just like a shield I used to own. It looks identical. Only, it had _silver_ swirls. Not golden ones. It was sharper, around the rim...and a carved trinity-knot marked its center."

The deteriorating shield behind glass suddenly began to fade; replaced by the one from his memory. He saw his old training shield, clear as day—shining silver, brand new, and unmarred by the centuries of use.

Then the memory fell away with an eyeblink. He stared at the half-broken shield before him, suddenly noticing all its signs of decay. Cracks ran across its wooden surface, and the metallic swirls had rusted long, long ago.

"And my shield never looked this worn," Thor added with a frown. "It was always kept polished, and neat. Probably because I hardly used it, beyond my years of training, in the Academy. So it was never used in battle."

Still listening, Jane leaned forward, peering through the glass, reading the label just below the shield. "Says here, that it's one of the oldest shields in their collection... Over nine hundred years old! Well, that explains why it looks so rusty."

A familiar, uncomfortable warmth crept into Thor's cheeks again as he looked down at her. His forehead twisted as he swallowed, and tried to refocus his eyes on the shield.

But what he saw, wasn't the shield behind the pane of glass. Instead, he saw his own reflection. His unfamiliar clothes, along with the deepening lines in his forehead and the waves of hair that appeared less like gold now and more like fading sand, seemed just as worn out and foreign to him, as the shield that wasn't his.

Thor shut his eyes for a brief moment, his mind reaching once again toward that distant time, when he held his shield proud in his arm as he marched out, onto the green grassy fields and train for hours and hours, until Loki would say, "That's enough for today! I'm famished," and bid him come home for supper...

Thor released a sigh, opening his eyes once more, his gaze remaining unfocused.

When Thor spoke again, his tone drew low, almost in a whisper. "It wasn't too long ago, that I was known for being quite careless. I remember how I used to leave my shield behind, on the training fields or in the arenas, _all_ the time. So much so, that even after I chose a more...aggressive form of combat...and put away shield-use for good, Sif didn't let me forget how careless I had been, and would tease me again and again for it. She'd say things like: 'What ever happened to your shield, Thor? You can't have lost it again!' And sometimes, when she saw me without Mjolnir, she'd say, 'Decided to leave your hammer back at home today? Right next to your forgotten shield?'" By now, a smile had grown across Thor's features. "And that—that always made me... Jane?"

He had glanced over at where he thought Jane stood, but she was no longer there.

_Jane?_

His eyes searched for hers among the crowd of visitors in the museum...

Until he found her, standing halfway across the room, absorbed once again in the information written on a plaque that hung over another display filled with relics.

The smile faded from Thor's face, as he lowered his head, and finished his sentence under his breath. "...And that always made me laugh."

VVV

Heat raced across the back of Loki's hand.

The tingle started over the rune mark and pricked his skin, surging up his veins, through his arm.

He winced when it reached his shoulder.

Pressing his lips together, he inhaled, breathing deep the musty scent of Asgard's vaults. The air vibrated with magic, and it reached his ears in a constant, dull hum.

With the doors safely locked behind him, he took a step forward. He tread lightly on the stone steps, yet his footsteps echoed all around as he descended into the chamber, illusionless and alone.

Stepping into the white, barred light that fell upon the smooth, obsidian floor, he glanced down at the transepts in the walls facing each other on either side of the hall.

Nestled within these indentures stood stone pedestals with ancient relics on display; their legends mostly forgotten, their magic shroud in mystery. Only the All-Father could tell the tales of how a stone tablet, a giant gauntlet made of gold, or a warlock's eye all came to be here, or _why_ they were kept here, in the depths of Asgard's foundations.

Stopping in front of the first transept to his left, Loki looked inside and beheld a purple, crystal orb laid in a bronze frame on a pedestal. Runes inscribed on the wall behind it read: _The Orb of Agamotto._

Loki descended two small steps and stopped a foot before the pedestal. He stared down at the relic, then lifted his arms so that his hands hovered on either side of the purple crystal.

His brow furrowed, the tips of his fingers feeling the air for magic. His mind saw tendrils dancing, emanating from the orb in vibrant greens.

He pressed his tongue through his lips, and spoke, quiet and deliberate:

"Search the universe, beyond the nine realms, and find me Amora, the enchantress."

The orb brightened around the edges, while its center darkened and swirled like a spiraling storm.

Then, a clouded form began to take shape within. The image slowly focused, until he saw her face clearly.

_There she is._

He could see her, from the shoulders up. Her ash-blonde hair—once so neatly kept in a single braid—hung loose, half of it pulled back and braided together with thin leather cords and silvery chains.

Loki lowered his chin, releasing a tight sigh. Flexing his fingers around the orb, he spoke again.

"Good. Now, show me where she is," he commanded.

The image within the orb blackened. Then, lights of every color broke through the swirling fog...

Neon lights illuminated a city street at night. The orb revealed a tavern, above which stood a sign made up of flickering red letters not of a language familiar to the people of Asgard. But Loki's knowledge of languages exceeded that of the average Asgardian. It only took him a moment to decipher the words:

_Deogol's Den_.

Loki absorbed every detail of what he could see, committing it and the name to memory.

He had what he needed now.

As he lowered his hands, the orb's light dimmed, and soon it returned to a slumber-like state.

Loki turned his back on it, and ascended the short steps, returning to stand in the center of the hallway, all the while keeping the image of the city street fresh in the back of his mind.

Before he traveled there, he would need a disguise.

Loki pulled with his magic, and in a flash, beams of gold radiated out of his body.

A layer of thick cloth slowly materialized, covering his leather armor. A shadow fell over the upper half of his vision as a hood came over his head. Long sleeves hid his hands to the tips of his fingers.

The golden aura subsided, and he stood fully cloaked, his form hidden in black.

Shutting his eyes, he now focused on the place in-between. It didn't take long for him to find it, for it hadn't been _too_ long since he had used it. Cupping his hands, he reached for it...

_Flash._

He opened his eyes.

A glass vial, sealed with a cork lid, contained rainbow-latticed crystal, half of it ground up into a fine powder that glittered like stardust.

Bifrost crystals, harvested from Asgard's core.

This treasured material did not exist on any other realm. Not only did it make up the Asbru, but it also held the very foundations of Asgard together. Therefore, the law strictly forbade anyone from harvesting the crystal, even a prince of Asgard.

That is why Loki never told anyone of his discoveries. Not even Thor.

Carefully untwisting the lid from the bottle, Loki tipped some of the contents into his palm, and resealed it.

Then he hid the bottle in a fist and made it disappear, returning it to the in-between.

Then he cupped both hands together, sealing them tight, and shook the dust inside.

His skin grew warm. He rubbed his hands together, then opened them, face up. They glittered, covered in a coat of crystal dust.

Exhaling, he slowly put his arms down, balancing himself. Then he lifted his right foot and rubbed dust all over the bottom of his boot. He lowered his foot, very, very carefully. His sole crunched softly on the floor, receiving a small burst of heat from the crystal.

He repeated the process with his left boot.

Standing still, with both feet planted firmly and his hands all covered in dust, he drew in a deep breath and shut his eyes again, concentrating on the tendrils of magic in the air. He could sense them, like strings of golden thread. He saw them forming a lattice before him—a net one could walk upon. And in the net's center, a white thread shone like a path, fading straight into infinity...

A branch of the world tree, Yggdrasil.

Keeping his balance and his eyes closed, Loki slowly lifted his right foot. He set it down directly in front of his left toe, as if he were walking a tightrope.

He sensed a surge in his feet. It meant the invisible branch was stable to walk on.

Loki could feel sweat collecting over his brow, but he kept still. Next, he focused the image of the city in his mind. He imagined the neon-lit streets and the sign that read "Deogol's Den_._"

Reaching up with his hand, he flipped his wrist and snapped his fingers.

A ripping sound...

The air in front of him split in two.

Loki's eyes snapped open, and a portal stood in the air before him.

About his height, and oval, like a looking glass, the portal's edges licked away like dark trails of fire. Its black center pulled the edge of Loki's cloak toward it. And with each passing second, the rim drew tighter and tighter, shrinking. It would close soon if he didn't cross.

Heart pounding, he backed up a step.

Bending his knees, he sucked in a preparatory breath.

He lunged. And at the same time, a force _pulled _him in—straight into the hole.

Long beams of rainbow-colored light zoomed past him. He squinted, keeping his arms close to his body as a wind-like power tugged his body in every which direction, threatening to yank him off the path, or stretch him apart. He gritted his teeth—

Everything went black.

Silent.

Then, a burst of blinding light.

VVV

Loki struck the ground like a lightning bolt. He landed on his feet, crouched low. Dust flew away from him.

Gradually he straightened, lifting his head.

He scanned his surroundings. The cold, dripping alley stood perfectly empty.

He took his first step in this unfamiliar realm, and listened. A siren blared, not far away. Machinery hissed and engines groaned as transports zoomed to and fro. Footsteps and voices resounded, despite the late hour of night.

Loki reached up, took his hood and drew it tight over his eyes. He started in the direction of the noise, navigating through several alleys in the dark as he made his way toward the street.

Smog filled his lungs as he stepped out of the dark and into the neon light.

Shrapnel-like skyscrapers hid the sky from view, rising up until they vanished into the fog. Pedestrians of every kind of alien race imaginable roamed the square, many of them carrying weaponry in plain sight, some traveling in groups. Perhaps gangs.

Loki resisted the idea of turning himself invisible, at least until he reached the tavern.

Then, his roaming eyes fell upon an establishment on the far side of the square. Its neon-red sign flickered, with foreign letters that spelled out the name he had committed to memory: _Deogol's Den._

Loki let out a short breath, studying the sign for a minute before he told his feet to move.

Something slammed into Loki's shoulder.

"Ey! Watch where you're going!" a dark gray, scaly creature spat, shaking its fist right in front of Loki's face. Loki's hand flew up to blast him backward...

But he pushed the urge down, and instead replied,

"Sorry," opening his hand in a sign of peace.

The creature merely growled again, yet thankfully withdrew its fist, and went on its way.

Loki lowered his hand, and sighed through his teeth. He gripped his hood tight below the neck, and, keeping his head down, he made straight for the edge of the sidewalk, not looking back once.

At last, he stood underneath the oven-red glow of the sign which marked the entrance to Deogol's Den.

Although windows shone in the towering structure above it, the tavern itself had no windows. The facade, a hodgepodge of metal and wire, had one opening, and that was the entrance, with swinging double doors. Loki pushed through.

The hinges creaked as he stepped into the dimly-lit tavern. The doors swung shut behind him. A few heads turned. Eyes stared him.

A thick haze filled the air, carrying the strong scent of grease and liquor. Orange lamps and loose circuitry hung from the low ceilings near the central bar, where a large-bellied bartender passed out drinks. Customers leaned against that counter top, or sat on one of the surrounding stools. Some lone figures huddled at the glowing, round tables, hunched over their drinks in complete silence. Others chose the shadowed corners of the pub, engaged in hushed conversations that drowned in an ambiance of instrumental music played by a small band in the far back.

_Squick!_

Loki stopped, then lifted his boot. A sheen film of something—something _rather nasty,_ and _sticky, _covered the entire floor. He made a face and kept moving, trying to ignore the way his boots kept sticking to the ground. He made his way around the tables, searching for one particular face among the crowd of guarded strangers.

There.

She sat across the way from him at the bar, with one hand on the hilt of a blade which hung from her hip, and the other holding her drink, which she presently eyed, unsmiling. Loki kept his eyes on her as he came around the bar slowly. He saw her in greater detail now, with more clarity than the orb had been able to show him before.

Now he noticed that the blonde hair behind her left ear had been shaved, close to the scalp, in snakelike patterns. The crowfoot tattoo marking her cheek distracted from what could be considered a fair face. She wore a brown, leather bodice with drawstrings beneath her green cape, lined in golden fox fur. The golden necklace, like her sister's, rested over her collarbone; a tan satchel hung, strapped across her body. Black, fingerless gloves came up to her elbows. Her short leather skirt flared over her black tights, which were riddled with tears. Her heeled boots held a couple of throwing knives with straps that wrapped round with metal buckles.

No one sat on the stool to her left. So, without hesitation, Loki strode up to the counter and slid onto the stool, resting his elbows on the counter and folding his hands. She didn't even look at him.

He took a deep breath, inclined his head, and turned just an inch towards her.

"Come here often?" he asked, in the smoothest of tones.

At first, she didn't respond. Then, she let out a snicker and shook her head.

"Look, don't," she warned. "I'm _really _not in the mood." She took one large gulp from her drink, emptying the mug, and set it down with a clang.

The bartender turned around, showing his pale, boar-like face. He reached out with his three-fingered hand and took her empty mug.

"Will that be all?" he asked her gruffly.

Before she could answer, Loki raised a hand.

"I'll have what she just had. And one more for her, on me."

The enchantress opened her mouth, but the bartender nodded and stomped off before she had a chance to say anything. Loki's peripheral vision caught her glare. Then, she gripped the edge of the counter and started to slide out of her stool.

"Leaving so soon?" Loki inquired, exuding absolute calm, not even glancing over at her.

"I don't accept drinks from strangers," she answered. She dismounted her stool, moved over a few feet, and sat back down in the stool just to the right of it.

Loki sat still for a moment. He tapped lightly on the counter, and nothing else. Then, he sighed, and followed her.

"And indeed, you shouldn't," he breathed as he stood, and took the empty seat between them. She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, and he saw her hand tighten on the hilt of her blade.

But she didn't stand up and leave.

So he went on, even softer than before.

"But you see..." Then he consciously turned his head and looked at her profile, straight on, from the shadows of his hood. "...we're not, in fact, strangers. You and I."

"Oh, really?" she chortled doubtfully. "You're wasting your time. I already told you: I'm not in the mood."

"Amora."

She went absolutely still.

Then, she turned, her cold eyes staring into his hood—unable to find his gaze—but hers was absolutely, and intensely focused.

Lifting one hand, Loki cautiously drew his hood back, exposing the left side his face to the orange lamplight.

She didn't flinch. Only her jaw showed the slightest tension. Her gaze grew dark.

"You..." she growled, dragging out every single vowel.

Loki replied with a close-mouthed smirk, resting his arm against the counter.

"After all these years..." she hissed, her eyes wandering all over his features. "After what you _did to me_... What makes you think I'd _ever_ want to see your face again?"

Loki clicked his tongue playfully.

"Ohh, come now. That was...what? Five centuries ago?" He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side. "Admit it. You're a _bit _glad to see me."

Her eyes narrowed. But her mouth cracked a smile.

Stomping steps made Loki look up. The bartender returned, halting on the other side of the counter with their drinks, one in each hand.

"'Ere you are, sir," he plopped the mugs down hard in front of Loki.

"Thank you," Loki answered, without making eye contact. He reached for the cups and pulled one close to himself. "One for me." The other, he offered Amora. "And one for the _lady._"

Amora glared, and snatched the cup from him without giving thanks. Loki toasted his glass, giving her a look, before drinking a sip.

Unsurprisingly, it tasted just like everything else he ate or drank these past few weeks: ash. It stung his tongue, and hurt when he swallowed, but he tried not to grimace. Still, he couldn't control the way his eyes screwed shut. Perhaps she saw that flash of discomfort, for she slid her glass off to the side and left it.

"So. What's this all about?" she prodded, voice low. "How did you find me?"

Loki swallowed again, the acidic burn settling into his gut, as he gently set his mug down.

"None of your business," he replied flatly.

"Ah." She grinned, gazing down at the table, her fingernails picking at its surface. "I see nothing has changed."

Loki faced the counter, folding his hands over it again.

"I suppose I should just get to the point, then." He looked at her. "I need someone with your particular set of talents to fulfill a few tasks for me."

She glanced up at him.

"What sort of tasks?"

Loki caught the way the bartender's ears seemed to perk up at that moment, even though he busied himself wiping the counters to their left.

Loki leaned closer towards Amora, and she visibly stiffened when their forearms touched. But Loki leaned even further, and answered, now whispering.

"I cannot tell you that right now."

"Then _when_ can you tell me?" she asked, quietly sharp.

"When we get back to Asgard."

"Asgard?" she scoffed. "Who says I'm coming back to Asgard with you?"

Loki glanced away. Then he spoke again, slowly.

"Well, you may want to...once you hear how it will affect your sister." Her head tilted back. Her gaze narrowed.

"Right. My sister's dead."

"Well," Loki went on lowly. "That may or may not be true."

Her hands flew up.

"No. You know what? I don't believe a word of this. Our work ended long ago. That was _your_ mistake. Not mine."

She stood up. But Loki's hand darted out and caught her by the wrist.

"Wait. Listen," he pleaded.

She stared back at him, her arm still tight. But she didn't pull away.

"There's...There is something wrong with me. Something...that's invaded my body. And it could very well kill me. I swear to you, I will keep my word and reunite you with your sister, if you'll help me get rid of it."

"Your word means nothing," she snapped. "Everyone knows you're a dreadful liar."

Loki loosened his grip on her wrist, holding it gently. He swallowed thickly, and looked at her solemnly in the eye.

"On my mother's grave... I swear it."

She pulled her hand free. Yet she remained where she stood, staring long and hard into his eyes.

Then she drew in a deep breath. And she nodded her head once.

"Fine. I believe you."

VVV

_Loki's heart thumped loud in his ears._

_He released a sharp breath, throat spasming as he tried to breath evenly..._

_ He leaned his head back, flattening his spine against a tall boulder that hid him in its shadow. He shut his eyes, and breathed in, and then out... _

_ They had left. He had snuck up, while they were gone. And he was now alone. They'd be back, he told himself. So he had very little time... _

_ Eyes pressed shut, he focused on his shallow breathing. Eventually it slowed, matching the stillness of the void. He could still hear his heartbeat, but he opened his eyes, scanning his surroundings, just to be sure. _

_ The platform lit by dim blue lights, remained empty. _

_ He had gotten used to the darkness, and so could distinguish one shadow from another, his eyes darting from one jagged boulder to the next. Nothing moved, nothing breathed, save for himself. _

_ Then he heard his stomach growl. If only he could silence that. But nothing had been given to him for days... _

_ Not that he particularly enjoyed the food they _did_ offer him. Always, nothing but a black, gooey sludge. It looked like molten tar, and tasted..._

_Well, unlike_ food.

_At first, the substance would made him choke. He couldn't swallow it. But eventually, his hunger overruled his sense of taste. He ate it, even if it later caused him stomach cramps. Because he knew he had to regain his strength, in order to survive._

_ Though he was given time to sleep, he couldn't. Not here. But he did try to rest, and use the time to sew up his wounds, with magic__—magic he could access whenever he went up to the__ platforms above. He was kept under tight surveillance, but he bided his time, looking forward to each of those uncomfortable sessions, if only for the taste of magic. _

_ Presently, he felt it__—that magic__, as it ebbed and flowed in his veins, igniting his very bones. _

Now's your chance. Do as you planned.

_Without making a sound__—slowly, carefully—__he pushed himself off from the rock_,_ standing separately from it, though still in its shadow._

_ His arms hung loosely, and he flexed his fingers. They tingled with magic. Then, facing his palms up, he inhaled a breath and shut his eyes. His mind went straight to his secret vault in the in-between. Then he reached for a silver object on one of the shelves, taking a tight hold of its handle. _

_ With a mental tug, he pulled the object through._

_ He perceived a dim flash beyond his closed eyelids_...

_ A delicate snap broke the stillness__, as the weight of silver fell into his empty hands. _

_ He opened his eyes, and his polished hand mirror gleamed up at him, its circular rim reflecting hues of blue. The glass itself was asleep__: black and empty__. Holding the silver neck with his right hand, he caressed the embossed back with his left, and lifted it up to his eyes. _

_ Then he spoke, in a whisper lower than a breath. "Hello, handsome."_

_It responded to the command with a green shimmer, as the glass inside glowed emerald, before subsiding and revealing Loki's reflection._

_ His features looked even paler than usual. His face still bore dirt and blood, caked around the edge of his hairline, around his ears. He wasn't foolish enough to waste the water they gave him on cleaning his face._

_Turning his chin to one side, Loki noticed the length of his hair. The edges had grown uneven the past few weeks, flipping up slightly about his neck._

_And when he bared his teeth out of curiosity, he cringed. They had turned yellow, stained brown in some areas—by whatever he was eating, probably._

_ Shutting his mouth in disgust, he then saw his lips, and how dry they had become, on the verge of drawing blood._

_His shoulders sank, with his heart. His eyebrows knit together, as he thought..._

What will they say? When they see me like this?

_And then he wondered..._

What will _I_ say?

_ The questions made his chest tighten painfully. But he wrapped his fingers tight around the mirror, and looked himself in the eye. He told himself..._

I will go to him. And say to him, "Father. I've acted like an utter _fool._ I've broken Asgard's law. I've broken code, and oath. But most importantly...I've broken your trust. And because of that, I am no longer worthy to bear the name Odinson. For me, returning to the palace as a servant would be enough. First, I would rebuild the Bifrost. And then, I'd serve Asgard, in whatever way you see fit, for however long it takes, to pay off all of the damage I have caused. If it can ever be repaid."

Yes, that's what I'll say.

_ Loki drew in a breath. Then he slid his left hand over the glass, covering his ghastly reflection. He pressed his eyes shut._

_Then he started the command, uttering the first part in a steady whisper. "Take me to Asgard..." His heart pounded louder than before—his hands were starting to shake. But he knew he could do this. He had to._

_Shaking himself, he pressed his lips together and prepared himself to voice the final word of command—_

_ He felt a chill. Course through his spine. _

_ A tremble ran down his legs, to his feet, where pebbles rattled the ground._

_ A deep chuckle__—__deeper than the ground itself__—__vibrated through Loki's skull. Loki snapped his head up, his eyes widening._

_ The cavernous voice spoke, and it felt inches away. "What...do you think...you are doing?" _

_ Loki's heartbeat slammed against his chest. He wanted to hide the mirror, but he couldn't move a muscle._

_"Thanos..." he breathed. "I—"_

_ He was about to offer an explanation, when Loki became aware of another presence, whizzing towards him with a shrieking snarl. In an eye-blink, the second one swept in and stood before Loki with its six-fingered hand outstretched._

_ His name was "The Other." A blind, hooded creature with a golden, mouthpiece barring his fangs, covered in blood. He came from an alien race called the "Chitauri," which he claimed he had transformed from a squirming race of blinds and mutes, into __a vast cyborg army._

_ "Is that any way to address Him?" The Other snarled presently. "You were told _never_ to utter His name!" _

_ "Pardon me...the lapse in memory," Loki answered, smoothly masking the tightness in his throat._

_Slowly, The Other withdrew his hand. Meanwhile, Loki lowered the mirror in his._

_Lifting his chin, Loki spoke to the one in shadow. "Unique One... I simply came up here, to check up on our friend, the doctor."_

_ "Then _where_ is your whispering-gem?" The Other hissed, taking a step forward. _

_ "I__—" __Loki's tongue felt like sandpaper. "__I__ didn't need it, this time. I wished to see if the cube...if everything was in order__.__"_

_ The air shifted, and Thanos cut in. "Do not lie to me, boy! You think you can hide from me? I know what you planned to do. But your thoughts were nothing but a useless prayer."_

_Another stir in the air, as the stench of sulfur hit Loki's nose. It made him shudder._

_ "Now..." Thanos' voice deepened even further. "Hand it over to him."_

_Loki's gaze fell on The Other, whose teeth dripped red, whose breath snarled._

_Then his eyes flew down to the mirror in his hand with its silver rim glistening green, like a torch in the dark. His hand formed a fist around its handle, and his throat closed._

_He lifted his head and stepped towards The Other. His limbs felt like water. But he leveled him an unblinking stare and calmly extended his arm, offering the mirror to him._

_The Other's head dipped, sensing the mirror in front of him. He reached up, and took the mirror from Loki's hand, and Loki was grateful that their skin didn't touch. He had the dreadful sense that if he touched the creature's skin, it would sting, or poison him._

_The way The Other's pale blue fingers ran slowly over the mirror's embossed surface made Loki's jaw tighten. But he kept stock still, aware of the shadowy presence that watched._

_The Other lifted his hooded head. "Did you make this?"_

_"No, he did not," the voice from the shadows observed. "It is older than him."_

_Loki ignored the sharp pang in his chest, replying, "It was given to me."_

_"Given to you?" The Other pressed. "By whom?"_

_Loki narrowed his eyes at The Other, lowering his chin as his breaths came harder. He didn't answer him._

_The Other bared his teeth in a dripping-red smile, then turned the mirror over in his hands, examining it some more._

_"A gift..." he considered, but it sounded sharp as a sneer._

_ Then, before Loki had time to react, The Other let go, allowing it to drop. _

_ Loki's throat made a reflexive gasp__—_

_It landed facedown with a crack._

_ Loki blinked in shock as The Other lifted his foot. A shadow fell over the mirror and the day lilies embossed on the back, before he stepped on it._

_Loki's vision blurred. The Other twisted the mirror into the ground. Crunching glass filled Loki's ears, mixed with a cruel, inky chuckle that made his blood turn cold._

_ "Foolish boy," Thanos scoffed. "You thought you could leave? You aren't going anywhere...unless _I_ will it."_

_ The Other withdrew his foot, revealing splinters of glass, scattered around the shattered mirror. Loki's hands tightened into fists when The Other added, "You made an agreement with Him...remember?" _

_ "An agreement," Loki snapped, his vision going red. "An agreement...? Our _agreement,_ was that _I_ would be given shelter. A bed__. __A place to stay__...__so that I could heal. _That_ was our agreement. But _all _I've been given...is a cold slab of stone at the bottom of some steps. Where all I do is _shiver_ every night__—__every day__—it makes no difference. __Because it's always night here." His own breathing filled his ears, his vision growing narrower. "In Asgard, even the lowliest of servants are given a bed. They're kept warm by the fire, with a roof over their heads and a sunrise that greets them in the morning. They have magic__—even if they don't know how to wield it—it's there,__ in the air, everywhere. You take it for granted! But it sustains your body, like food...which has also been denied me! The toxic waste I'm given isn't food at all, yet I'm told it's all I can have. Even the _prisoners_ in Asgard are treated with more dignity. Indeed, I was a _prince_ there. The son of a _king!_ I deserve far better__—"_

_Suddenly, a blast hit Loki on the side of the head, shooting pain through his skull. He felt his knees give way as he crashed to the ground, hitting the other side of his head. He groaned, trying to lift himself off the floor, but his body was going limp, and he could feel his limbs tingle, wanting to go numb._

_When he opened his eyes, he saw The Other standing above him with his arms spread, his six-fingered hands giving off yellow sparks of electricity._

_Then the darkness of space behind The Other shifted. A cloud of mist gathered out of the darkness, forming a gigantic pillar that swirled tighter and tighter until the silhouette outlined the head and shoulders of a shadow man._

_Then two eyes shone out from the cloud. Only this time, they burned a fiery yellow._

_Loki's vision kept going in and out. But through the haze he saw a row of white teeth clenching beneath the two torches._

_The Titan's eyes all aflame, he parted the mist, advancing upon Loki._

_A giant, crushing grip wrapped around Loki's throat and upper torso, crushing him, as it lifted him high in the air._

_Loki gasped, but his airflow was cut off. He thrashed with all his strength, but it was useless. He would die like this._

_The titan's eyes burned with rage, and Loki grimaced, looking away._

_"You ungrateful worm," Thanos bellowed, his sulfuric breath hot on Loki's face. "You deserve absolutely nothing. Not even the dirt you squirm in... You want to know what you truly deserve? Death. That is what you deserve. You defied me, because you do not see the bigger picture. But you'll soon learn your place, unruly prince." Thanos squeezed tighter and tighter, till Loki felt a crack in his ribs that made him want to scream. "And in the end, you will choose me. Not because I'll make you. No... You will come on your own, begging on your knees."_

_Loki shuddered, tears falling down his cheeks as his body went limp._

_Then Thanos released him._

_He fell, crashing on his back. His lungs were on fire._

_He couldn't breathe—couldn't—_

_ Then, a single breath tore through his chest, and he gasped, as more tears fell. _

_ "Other," Thanos spoke above him. "The Asgardian says he is not satisfied with his sleeping arrangements."_

_"What do you suggest?" The Other finally replied._

_There was silence between them, as Loki continued to hyperventilate._

_Thanos finally replied. "Bind him."_

_Loki's mind swam._

_The image of a broken mirror filled his mind's eye. The voices above him grew faint, and he began to lose consciousness..._

_"Throw him in the leviathan nest. There he may spend the night..."_

VVV

_ To be continued... _

_ Please review if you enjoyed!_

Announcement: I've recently created a facebook page for this story! Look up the page "Trengsel" in the facebook searchbar, and my page should pop up! There I post important updates (you'll see as soon as the new chapter is posted!), sneak peeks, as well as cool photos paired with quotes from the story. It's a great place to speculate and discuss, so check it out!

_ Notes: _

_ In the Thor and Jane segment, I chose to mention the yellow daffodil flower. In the Language of Flowers it means "Regard," "Esteem," and "Unequalled Love." _

_ I had a lot of fun writing the Tower of London segment. Having been there once, and doing a bit of extra research, I wanted to describe the real-life location with accuracy. Though I put my own spin on certain things, of course. ;) I used the name "Deogol," for the tavern's name, an English name which means "secret." _


	7. Shadows of Loki

_ Thanks for last chapter's reviews! I cherished each one!  
_

_ Even though it's taken me longer to update this than I would have hoped...I did interrupt my progress on Trengsel to bring you a one-shot. It's on my page, and it's called "The Monster Parents Tell Their Children About At Night." Please be sure to check it out! :)_

_ If you haven't already checked out Trengsel's new facebook page, please do! Just search "Trengsel" in the facebook searchbar, and it is an official book page! _

_And lastly, I am posting a trailer for Trengsel on my youtube channel (darthxerik)! Go check it out!_

_ Off we go!_

VVV

CHAPTER SEVEN

"SHADOWS OF LOKI"

_VVV_

"Once upon a time There was a charming prince

Warm soul, and arms of steel,

But luckless on his love

Once upon a time an angel prayed for him

They had a destiny

Remember it

Oh please, remember it...

Before I knew it, she poisoned my heart

And drowned yours with this sorrow

And you're gone

And I'm just torn..."

\- Ivan Torrent, _Remember Me_

_VVV_

_Crack!_

The air rumbled and swelled, then snapped in two as Loki burst forward—thrust into blinding light. His feet hit the ground. He stumbled, but caught himself.

Light faded black. He straightened as the portal behind him growled and drew shut. The sound echoed through the stone hallway.

He stood in an abandoned area of Asgard's palace, barely lit by a crack in the ceiling—unguarded and silent.

All Loki could hear now was the sound of his own breath—

And Amora letting out a cough as she strode up next to him. Her heels clopped too _loudly_ against the granite floor.

Loki adjusted his hood over his eyes. She cleared her throat.

"_Now_ would you mind filling me in?"

Loki lifted a finger to his lips without looking at her.

"Follow me," he whispered, lowering his arm and fixing his gaze on the double doors at the end of the hall. "And keep quiet_._" She snorted. Loki advanced down the hall, and she followed, clipping the heels of her boots against the floor even louder than before.

They stopped before the doorway in the near-dark. Loki's eyes ran all over the brown wood—over branching, treelike designs carved upon its damaged surface. Most of the doors in the palace were made of gold, and opened willingly for royalty. But these doors were truly ancient. They did not recognize Loki's _seidr_—the essence of his magic—so readily.

Loki tilted his head to the side. He raised his left hand, palm facing outward. His brow wrinkled as the doors obeyed and creaked, opening up to reveal another hall...

One with gold-plated walls that glimmered in the orange torchlight. Also unguarded.

Loki stepped forward, breaking into quicker stride. Amora followed, saying nothing—but he noted how she glanced up at the ceilings and at all the solid gold, her wide eyes absorbing everything.

Footsteps.

The clank of armor echoed from around the corner—

"Play along," Loki murmured, without stopping.

"What?" Amora tried.

Loki flicked his hand.

Flash. A green glow enveloped him—from the top of his cloak down to his boots. Then, a gold light flickered as he conjured Gungnir into his right hand.

In less than three seconds, he had transformed into Odin—

Just as the pair of armor-clad Einherjar rounded the corner.

Amora almost tripped.

"Greetings," Loki said, channeling Odin's voice. The guards halted. They struck their fists against their breastplates and bowed their heads.

"Your Majesty," they replied together.

Loki stopped and lowered the golden spear. It thudded faintly as it touched the ground. Loki waved his other hand.

"At ease," he allowed.

The guards lifted their heads and relaxed their shoulders a bit. Then both their eyes flew to Amora. Loki glanced behind as well.

She stood back, with her mouth hanging open. In the grease-filled haze of the tavern full of crooks, she never looked out of place. But here in Asgard's courts, she stuck out worse than a thorny weed in the middle of a patch of well-tended roses.

Loki turned back to the guards, and they attended to him.

"This is Amora the Enchantress," Loki said, gesturing towards her. "You may remember her. She is much changed. Her tongue was cut out by savage marauders." Loki's gaze flickered towards Amora for an instant. Her mouth worked before clamping shut. He could practically hear the steam coming out of her ears. He went on. "She is here to help me. Ask her no questions. Go to the Mistress of the Robes and tell her I require ten sets of lady's garments to be sent to the apprentice's chambers next to the healing rooms. That will be all."

"Yes, My Lord," one of the guards answered.

They both thumped their fists against their breastplates and took a bow together. Then they quickly turned on their heels and left the hall in the direction from whence they came. Once they were out of sight, Loki released his shoulders. He smiled, and he let out a chuckle—a low, rusty chuckle—in Odin's voice.

Amora stared at him through narrow eyes.

"_What_ was _that?_" she hissed. Loki smiled down at her crookedly.

"Part of filling you in," he replied. "Come."

Gripping Gungnir, Loki whipped around her and swept onward, expecting her to trail him.

He heard her release a heavy groan, but soon her heels came clopping behind him. She increased her speed and flanked him. With a huff, she adjusted her satchel around her shoulder and flicked a loose braid away from her face.

"I am _not_ wearing a dress," she said with resolve.

"Ah, ah, ah..." Loki waved a finger at her. "You're mute, remember?"

Amora drilled him with a fiery glare.

Then her mouth tightened, and she walked in silence.

VVV

"Switzerland?!"

Jane winced and pulled the phone away from her ear as Darcy practically shouted on the other end.

"You're going to _Switzerland?_"

"Sweden, actually," Jane corrected her. "They'll award the prize there in Stockholm." "Oh my gosh, Jane!" Darcy gasped. "I'm, like...seriously spazzing out right now."

Jane laughed.

"Well, don't congratulate me just yet," she warned, her wet boots squeaking as she climbed up the stairwell that wound up towards her apartment. "It's only a _nomination _right now_._"

"Uh—Yeah!" Darcy choked. "For a _Nobel Prize!_ Jane, seriously. How many people can say they've been nominated for a Nobel Prize?"

Jane shrugged and smiled slightly.

"Not many I guess," she replied as she came to the last step.

"But you're going to the ceremony," Darcy verified. "When is it?"

Jane pressed her lips together.

"In about two months." Jane stopped at her apartment door, tilted her head and held her phone between her shoulder and her right ear. She reached down into her purse and dug through the mass of paper notes and miscellaneous junk. Finally, she felt her keys. They jangled when she yanked them out. She had just gripped her house key when Darcy asked:

"So...does Thor know about this yet?"

Jane fumbled and she dropped her keys. They hit the ground with a loud _splank, _and Jane groaned.

"No, I haven't yet," she admitted, snatching them back up. She didn't know why a small ache filled her chest when she admitted that.

"He's your _boyfriend_, Jane," Darcy reminded her. And that only made the ache worse. "I know!" Jane shot back. She glanced down and shrugged, sighing. "I just haven't had the opportunity yet."

"Are you planning to invite him?" Darcy wondered. Jane chuckled.

"Yeah, no. Probably not. I don't know. He just wouldn't—"

"Fit in?" Darcy offered. "With all the snotty scientists of the world...? Sorry—no offense."

"Well, maybe that's another reason," Jane granted her. "But I was thinking more because he might not even make it past airport security."

"You know what you need to do?" Darcy asked, in an entirely different tone.

"What?"

"Find Thor a hobby."

"A hobby," Jane echoed flatly.

"So while you're gone, he can stay busy!" Darcy explained. "Have him sign up for a yoga class. Or a cooking class..."

"Thor? A cooking class?" Jane laughed. "Darcy...I mean, he does make a good omelet—that I do know. But that's about it."

Darcy sighed on the other end of the line—a hiss in Jane's ear.

"Jane. I'm trying to help you out. You were telling me, just the other day that you were running out of ideas and things to do with him!"

Jane went quiet. That _was_ something they had talked about. Maybe she should consider Darcy's suggestions. At least figure out what to do with Thor while she'd be gone. Or at least what to tell him...

"Well, thanks, Darcy. I appreciate it." Jane said lowly. "Hey, I've arrived at my apartment now, so I have to get going."

"Okie dokie," Darcy replied. "Hey, next time you swing by Erik's place, give me a ring so I can join you guys. Maybe bring Ian along and we can all play a game of Trivial Pursuit!" Darcy changed her voice to a southern twang and added, "Just like the good ol' days."

"Just like the good ol' days..." Jane sighed with a light smile, remembering the summers they had shared in the New Mexican dessert, poring over data and charts in the heat of the sunlit lab-days before everything had grown more _complicated._

"Alrighty, then. Talk to yah later," Darcy drawled.

"Yep," Jane replied with a nod. "Goodnight."

"Night!"

Jane hung up and slipped her phone into her purse. Twisting the doorknob, she pushed through the door.

She stopped.

The dimness inside surprised her.

"Hello?" The door creaked as she poked her head through.

As she stepped in, she heard a sound coming from the other side of the apartment: a faint pattering against the patio deck outside. Rain.

And she heard it clearly, because the balcony door stood wide open. Wind blew through the curtains, billowing them gently.

Jane ventured further into the apartment, glancing past the glowing computer desks full of papers and magazines to her left. An orange glow came from the living room, where the electric fireplace was on. She didn't remember the last time she had turned it on...

Then she glimpsed the back of a golden head, with hair tied in a loose ponytail.

Thor.

He sat in the couch, facing the flames. He hadn't moved since she had walked in.

Tip-toeing closer, Jane rounded the computer station to view him fully. He sat with forearms on his knees, his hands hanging limp, the edge of his profile caught in warm, reddish light: His brow set hard as stone, his stormy-blue eyes staring intensely and deeply into the heart of the fire. He might have been staring _through_ them instead of _at_ them, though—his gaze distant as he maybe pondered things far away, or long gone.

He stayed that way, absolutely motionless, for a long time.

Finally, Jane drew in a breath to say something. But then the skin around Thor's eyes flinched. He blinked, turned his head, and looked at her.

It was dark, so she could barely make out the look on his face.

"Oh," he said, as if slightly surprised. "Good evening, Jane."

"Hi. You too," she said in return. "Did you have a good day?"

Thor nodded and replied simply:

"Twas fine."

She waited for something else. But that was all he said before he returned his gaze to the fire.

Jane shut the door behind her. She felt for the switch on the wall and flipped it on. A light came alive over the countertops in the kitchen, the fluorescent white contrasting with the dim flame in the living room. Saying nothing, Jane headed towards the kitchen.

This was the first time she had left Thor alone in the apartment for an entire day. She didn't know why she had imagined coming home to a dirty kitchen littered with empty cereal boxes or why she envisioned a stack of dirty dishes in the sink, or a broken lamp in the living room—cracks in the television, mud on the carpet, or dents in the walls...

Because as she walked through the apartment, everything was perfectly in its place. Everything was flawless and untouched. No dirty dishes in the sink, no food spilt everywhere, and no dents in anything.

Setting her keys and purse down on the table, she noticed the remote hadn't moved from its spot on the table, where she had left it with a sticky note. She had written down a list of different TV channels, ones she thought Thor might enjoy. She figured he'd enjoy sports, the news, TV land, and Turner Classic Movies. But at the moment it made sense that it hadn't appealed to him, to watch anything without her insistence, since—if she remembered correctly—people on Asgard didn't watch screens for entertainment. She suddenly wondered what activities _did _keep them busy all day...

She pulled herself out of the daydream, taking off her navy-blue trench coat and folding it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

"So, what did you do today?" she asked Thor, watching him. He tilted his head. Then he shrugged. Without glancing over at her, he answered:

"Nothing too grand."

Jane pulled off her rain boots. She set them down on the kitchen floor and drew herself up again, returning her gaze to Thor. He hadn't pulled his gaze from the fire—hadn't turned his head, and only moved to rest his arm on the back of the couch.

It was as if she wasn't there at all.

Her jaw tightened as she leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. She thrummed her fingers against her sleeves. She had a thought, earlier that day—something she wanted to tell Thor when she got home. Now she couldn't remember it. And it wasn't the news about the Nobel Prize. She tried, but couldn't remember it. So she brought up something else.

"I ordered pizza for dinner. It should get here pretty soon." Thor nodded absently, and still didn't speak.

Something about him being this quiet—though it wasn't unusual for him to be a little withdrawn lately—and something about the way he gazed into the fire made her stomach start to feel tight. This wasn't a new feeling. This uneasiness—like a knot in her gut—came around almost daily, when she was with him. It had started the day Thor left for three days—and came back.

In fact, it started the second they shared a kiss on her balcony. She didn't know then why such a free, joyous moment also made her feel tight and anxious, deep inside. And the feeling had only grown stronger with each passing day they spent together. Sometimes it felt like alarm, flashing through her veins and making her heart beat nervously. It was those times that she'd be reminded how they hardly knew each other at all—but she told herself it was natural to feel this nervous around someone new you liked and were familiarizing yourself with.

And then sometimes she'd sense it differently, after she'd said goodnight to Thor, shut the door, turned off all the lights, and wrapped herself tightly in her covers. Those times it felt more like a deep longing, as she'd dream awake of the stars and far—off galaxies—the rainbow bridge and a golden city.

Jane bit the inside of her cheek, and hoped the present feeling would go away if she ignored it. Because this time it didn't feel like longing, or like nervousness. It felt like _fear._ And she had to shake it—

"Aha!" she breathed to herself, snapping her fingers.

She remembered what she had forgotten—what she wanted to tell him when she got home!

Quickly rounding the kitchen table, she skipped past the computer desks, and headed to her bedroom. As she passed by the couch where Thor sat, she whispered at him:

"Be right back!"

She pushed open her bedroom door and turned on the light. Light brown walls greeted her, along with her antique bed made out of dark wood, covered with white striped bedsheets, which hadn't been made that morning. She went straight for the stack of books sitting on the vanity desk at her bedside, reaching for the book on the top of the stack.

She snatched it up quickly and turned it over in her hand, glancing at the green hardcover. Then she turned on her heel and left, switching off the lights on her way out.

She slowed when she stepped on the living room carpet. She took a deep, steady breath, and felt the freshness of the rain air from outside wash over her. She usually didn't pay attention to the rain. It's not like it was unusual for it to rain like this, here in London. It had been pouring all week. For two or three weeks, actually...

Jane turned her gaze from the rain-sprinkled windows towards Thor's profile, by the light of the fire.

Without making too much noise, she eased around the couch and moved the pillow that rested in the empty seat next to Thor.

He was wearing his gray sweatpants—the ones she had bought him last week, because she thought he always looked uncomfortable, and could use something less dressy. He also wore his black, short-sleeved v-neck.

"So I had a couple of questions for you," she said, breaking silence. "About stuff I was reading about last night."

Thor finally tore himself out of whatever reverie he was in, and looked at her.

"Yes?"

"Well, you see...In this book..." She plopped herself into the couch next to him and pulled her feet up on the cushion. "There are some interesting stories. But I stopped where I was reading, because things started to surprise me. And I thought I might as well ask about what some of these things mean before I just plowed ahead."

"All right," Thor nodded—his eyes were now on the book. Jane happily held it toward him so he could see the cover. In the light of the fire, she could read the title of the book, embossed in gold: _Snorre's Prose Edda. _

"It's Erik's. From his personal library," Jane told him. "He said I could borrow it, as long as you, or I liked. He read these stories to me when I was little. He knew them all by heart, though, so I doubt he even needed the book! His father told them to him when _he_ was a kid. I used to know them, too, but...that was years ago, and I've forgotten completely how they went."

Jane cracked the book open and read through its table of contents. She angled the book towards him, and he peeked down at the list of chapter titles.

"They're the Norse myths," she proceeded. "They're stories that were told about you and Odin and Loki, and all kinds of things about Asgard. The stories were told orally, and they were passed down through generations. Eventually, somebody wrote them down. But they are pretty old."

Thor scooted closer and pointed towards the book.

"I've heard these tales before."

Jane looked up and smiled at him.

"Really? You have?"

"Yes" he said. "Well...Only heard _of_ them. I have never actually read them myself, or had anyone tell them to me."

Jane inclined her head towards him.

"Well, then. Maybe it's time someone did." She turned the pages till she reached the middle of the book, and found the page with a thin, red ribbon for a bookmark. She laid the book flat on her lap and spread the pages out. Then, with her finger, she traced the paragraphs down, until she came upon the story she had left off on the previous night.

She straightened, cleared her throat, and gave him a quick glance before she began. "All right. So the story begins with the question. It says: 'Why was gold given the name _Sif's hair?_ This is why. Once Loki, son of Laufey the frost giant, decided to cut off all of Sif's long, beautiful, golden hair. He did it for mischief's sake, and mischief's sake alone.'"

"No, no, no—Sif's hair was not cut off," Thor protested. "It was _turned_ black through magic! And Loki...he did not do it. Yes, of course he has always been prone to mischief—but cutting off a maiden's hair? Stealing from her pride and beauty from her? That would be heartless. He would be incapable of that."

"Oh. I see," Jane said, frowning down at the page, then back up at Thor. "But you said Sif's hair wasn't always black? That it _was_ blonde before?"

Thor nodded.

"Yes. When I met her, she was fair."

"Wow. Interesting," Jane marveled, staring down at the page. "Oh, so, here's another thing... It says Loki is a...Frost Giant? What is that?"

Jane felt Thor shift in the couch and turn away. She looked up at him. He gazed at his folded hands and heaved a shuddering sigh.

"Like the Aesir, _Jotuns_ are an ancient race. They live on the realm called _Jotunheim._"

"_Jotunheim,_" Jane whispered. "Wait, I remember...vaguely...Loki saying that, when he was talking to Malekith. He said he was from there."

Thor nodded, and showed her his stormy blue gaze.

"There, it is always winter. Always night. Frost Giants can easily withstand the extreme temperatures, because of their skin, which is blue. They stand at about ten feet tall. And they have red eyes—red as blood—that can see in the dark. And their skin is so cold to the touch that it would instantly burn our skin, and turn it black."

"But wait," Jane protested. "Loki doesn't..._didn't_ look like what you're describing at all. Did he always put some kind of an illusion around himself?"

Thor stared at her.

"No," he said firmly. "He did not know he was a Frost Giant. Not before the day I was banished did he know. It was a powerful shape-shifting spell that my father cast upon him, when he was a babe. He is—for all intents and purposes—Asgardian." Thor sighed. "And since the time both he and I were _born_, the Jotuns and the Asgardians have been enemies. Even after the war ended, it was not forgotten how much the centuries of battles cost us. It cost my father his right eye. Once the Jotuns were defeated, my father established a treaty with them that lasted hundreds of years—until _I_ broke it."

Jane's eyebrows came together as she watched Thor's expression soften—and then twist painfully.

"The Frost Giants have always been feared and _hated_ by us. I myself swore that I would someday hunt them down. I grew up dreaming of the day I might encounter one, and slay it on the spot." Thor's throat tensed as he swallowed. He shook his head wearily. "Loki was raised just as I was. So, naturally, he learned to fear them. And to hate them, too. His own blood..."

Thor glanced away, blinking rapidly. And Jane swallowed against the knot in her throat. She remembered what Thor told her—about how Loki had changed, during the several days in which Thor was banished. About how Loki had become desperate for Odin's approval, and even tried to destroy the Frost Giants' world in order to receive it.

Jane bowed her head, studying the book on her lap. "Shall I keep going?" she finally asked, after a moment of silence.

Thor nodded without speaking. So she took up the book once again, and caught up to where she had left off.

"Here it says: 'When Thor found Sif, she was weeping over her golden hair, which now lay in a pile on the ground. He became furious, surmising that it must have been Loki's doing. So he searched everywhere for the mischief maker, until he finally caught him. Thor seized Loki by the throat and was ready to kill him by breaking every single bone in his body with his mighty hammer—"

"_What? No!_" Thor cried.

A thunder-crack resounded in the distance, and the rain began beating down harder.

"This is all, utterly, _wrong!_ When would I ever,in a thousand years, beat my brother to death?" His eyes burned with storm-like intensity—then they glistened, his voice rough. "Even as a foolish youth, when I had the worst of tempers...Even when I fought him hand to hand, in order to save him from his own madness...Never did I strike him—not once!—in the head with Mjolnir! I wouldn't dare! Especially not over something as petty as some sheared pile of hair! He is my _brother!_"

Thor bolted up from the couch, every limb stiff, and his steps rang as he began to pace. Jane watched him, hardly able to breathe, much less say anything. At the same time, the storm outside let out several booming rolls of thunder, which made Jane's heartbeat hammer against her ribs.

"Whoever came up with these ridiculous stories," Thor bit out lowly, "Doesn't know. They weren't there. They did not see the way Loki neither slept nor ate for weeks because he was trying his hardest to reverse the spell that changed Sif's hair."

Jane swallowed, and summoned the strength to speak.

"But Loki _wasn't_ the one who turned it black."

Still pacing, he shook his head.

"No. He wasn't. But people thought that he was."

"If he didn't do it, then who did?" Jane wondered.

"His closest apprentice, Amora," Thor replied darkly, facing Jane. "She was a powerful sorceress, especially for her age. When she cast the spell on Sif's hair, she left a trace of her magic behind—a signature. Every magician has one, unique as a fingerprint, that can be sensed under close inspection by master magicians. That time, on purpose, she made hers look identical to Loki's signature. Even my mother fell for it, at first."

"That's terrible," Jane groaned. "What a mean thing to do! Why would she do that?"

"I've no idea," Thor answered. "But after it was proven she had cast the spell, Loki informed her through a letter that she would henceforth be expelled from the Academy of Magic. She could not step one foot in that place, or she'd be imprisoned. After that, we never saw her again. She disappeared. She may have left Asgard, though many believe that she died. She left behind a sister, and she—" Thor's voice cut off, and his eyes shifted away. "She is an entirely different tale. One I do not care to tell."

"Oh. That's fine..." Jane granted him, biting back her curiosity.

"When my mother was able to show proof of Loki's innocence," Thor continued. "She tried her best to persuade Sif to forgive Loki. But Sif would not listen. She hated Loki. And from that time—even to this day—she remains convinced that Loki must have done it, or at least had a hand in it. That Amora must have been following her master's orders. Unfortunately, this is also what many others thought."

"Gosh," Jane murmured. "Did Loki have something against Sif? From before? I mean, why else would she be so convinced that he did it?" Thor halted, and stood still. Then he smiled, very faintly, and tilted his head. The rain outside had stopped pouring. It now trickled once more. "No, it was quite the opposite, actually. He loved her."

Jane inhaled a shallow breath as her heart sank to the bottom of her chest.

"I...didn't know that." She paused, then risked another question. "But she didn't...love him back, did she?"

Thor shook his head sadly. Then, he moved back towards the couch.

"No, she did not. It was his secret. I don't know if he ever confessed his feelings to her," Thor admitted. The couch creaked as he sat back down. "But he had confessed them to me. I knew before it happened."

Jane uncrossed her legs, adjusting the book in her lap. Then she looked up at him, angled herself towards him, and turned the conversation.

"I want to know," Jane began uncertainly. "You said the book has it all wrong. So I want to know...What was Loki _really_ like?"

Thor looked at her. His eyebrows flew up and drew together.

"Loki?"

"Yes," Jane affirmed. "I know—you've told me many things already. But I still don't have a clear mental picture of what he was really like—the Loki you grew up with."

Thor's gaze flickered between her eyes, his brow twisting.

"This is something I have never been asked, Jane," he told her. "I'll admit...I do not know where to begin."

Jane pressed her mouth closed and waited, watching him intently as he let out an unsteady sigh. His shoulders slumped gradually.

"My brother...was..." He tipped his head towards his right shoulder, and a glimmer filled his eyes. He sat in silence for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had lowered to a prayer. "He was _true,_ Jane."

A chord was struck, deep inside Jane's chest. Then she leaned towards Thor, closer to his left shoulder, and listened to his voice through the sound of the faint wind and rain outside.

"All his life, he was loyal to me. He was trustworthy, ever at my side, ready to offer me good counsel. He was always very wise. Full of charm and wit, he was quick to smile, or share a laugh. He was incredibly clever—cleverer than I ever was, that is for certain!" Thor chuckled softly, his eyes just starting to smile... "Nothing ever escaped his attention. He saw everything. Always sharp and discerning, well-tempered, and well-mannered. He thought things through, and felt things deeply. You know—" Thor's gaze lifted, and his smile softened. "He was very _much _like our mother."

Jane sighed deeply, remembering the queen's sacrifice. She remembered how kind Frigga had been to her—her warmth, gentleness, and hospitality—not yet an hour after they had first been introduced.

And then, Jane recalled feeling a solid body shielding her—crouched close above her, brushing against her hair and shoulder. She remembered the feeling of absolute protection from a man who would stab, kill, and strike if anything came anywhere near her. An arm forced her to the ground, out of the way of an incoming grenade. She remembered how he, too, took her place, mere hours after they had first been introduced.

"They were alike in gentleness. But neither of them were weak," Thor emphasized. "Loki was _brave._ And skilled. Sometimes, I even envied him. He had strengths I never could've possessed. While I was brute force—he was tact and _elegance._ He knew _just_ how to weave phrases, and use words to persuade, build, or use like weapons. What a masterful storyteller he was! One could just sit around the fire and hear him tell stories for hours. Oh! You should _hear _him do his impressions, Jane! He can do Volstagg, Fandral...Mother and Father. His impressions are uncanny!"

Thor's bright eyes suddenly dimmed. They flickered. His gaze fell to his lap, and his smile disappeared.

"_Were_ uncanny," he corrected himself, his voice faint.

For a while he just stared into his lap, and Jane worried that he had finished. But then he quietly breathed, in and out, and lifted his chin, his eyes meeting hers. The smile had left them.

"There were times when Loki's words could pierce like arrows," he said, unsteady. "Sometimes they even caused me to doubt, but..." Thor drew in a gasp. "His _eyes,_ Jane. They _always_ told the truth! Even if I was too blunt to see it every time—if he was telling a lie with his mouth, all I had to do was look in his _eyes_...and they would let me in. I could always tell when he was being absolutely sincere, when eyes would align with his words. It happened more often than you might think. As children, I remember that's how it always was. He did not know to tell a lie back then."

"What were you two like?" Jane suddenly had to ask. "As children?"

Thor's tense expression suddenly eased. He smiled warmly, and he chuckled to himself.

"Well...We were boys," he stated simply. "We played, of course, and did everything together. We seldom quarreled. Usually it was all pretend fighting, anyway. We shared all our dreams, then. We wanted to go to battle, and see all the realms."

"Have you seen them all?" Jane asked, leaning close to his shoulder.

Thor turned towards the fire—his smile faltered.

"I suppose we have! All nine," he sighed. "But as we grew, we could not simply create war where there was none. We were encouraged, by our father and mother, to cultivate our own unique, _constructive_ talents. I started to spend all my time in the training grounds, while Loki learned the ways of magic from our mother. I did not always understand his talent, but I always respected it, and would sometimes watch from behind a pillar, unbeknownst to them, as she taught him. It was truly incredible how quickly he learned.

"He became so advanced that the Academy ran out of things to teach him. Loki decided to teach himself, after graduating. He would spend hours in his room, poring over stacks of spellbooks. While everyone else, including myself, was outdoors practicing for another tournament, he'd be indoors, locked away in the library. Sometimes he'd disappear for days, until one of us would have to go find him and dig him out of there! Otherwise, he would forget about things like _eating_ or _sleeping._"

Jane giggled. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, but she couldn't help it, as memories flooded her.

"Sounds an awful lot like me when I was in school, getting my PhD," she chuckled, recalling the hours of studying, surrounded by piles of textbooks in a dimly-lit library during the wee hours. "Man, I was such a nerd back then," Jane snorted. "Still am."

Thor's eyebrow lifted, and Jane could tell he didn't know what the word "nerd" meant. But it didn't prevent him from grinning, and letting out a laugh. It rumbled out of him, rich and bright as he shook his head.

"Oh, if you only got to know him, Jane...You would like him," he said. His smile only grew as he blurted out, with increased excitement in his voice: "And _he_ would like _you!_"

Jane's heart flew to her throat. A second passed, and she saw it in Thor's eyes, too. The realization that Loki was no longer here. His sparkling blue gaze turned gray.

Both of them, almost at once, turned towards the fire. A long moment passed, and Jane watched the flames in a blur—she couldn't stop blinking as images and memories suddenly flashed across her vision...

Loki.

She saw him again, through a haze, standing before her, as she marched up to him.

She heard his voice. He began to speak, and his voice came in a tone of resignation... _"Hello, I'm Loki. You may have heard of me—"_

That was all he got to say. Because Jane already had her fist drawn back, behind her ear. Raging heat pumped through her blood as she swung—

She hit his jaw. Hard.

Loki's head whipped back. His eyes widened, then went blank, staring out in stunned silence. And Jane had ignored the pain shooting through her knuckles when she spat to his face: _"That was for New York." _

And she remembered that he turned slowly, and grinned—his green eyes flashing at her.

_"I like her!"_

But they never spoke after that uncomfortable exchange. After that...

In an eye-blink, Jane saw him again. This time, he lay on the ground, in the ashen dust. Thor held him, cradling him even as his limbs were wracked with sobs. Loki didn't move. His skin had turned gray and his eyelids were closed.

She blinked again, her heart pounding, as her vision caught up with her. It awoke to the dancing flames, and Thor's stone-like presence.

Her heart hadn't left her throat. She swallowed against the pain, but a tight knot remained, as did the burning ache in her heart.

Sniffing, she drew herself up.

"I want to apologize for something," she whispered, aware that her voice sounded rocky.

He turned, and lifted an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry. For punching your brother," she said, biting her lip. "It was thoughtless, and rude of me. I was just so angry about what Loki did to Erik...but still. I shouldn't have done that. It was…insensitive. I mean, he had lost his mother, too, so… I'm sorry."

When she glanced up, Thor didn't shake his head, or say: _"Oh, that's alright..."_ or _"It's all been forgotten." _

Instead, he shut his mouth and clenched his jaw. His gaze fell from her eyes, down to her chin. Then he sighed, and lowered his head.

"It was a difficult time for all of us," he said. Then he glanced down at Jane, searching her face all of a sudden, as if searching for something he needed to find. His brow lifted, his expression full of curiosity.

"He must have seen something in you," he said, as if he were speaking just to himself. "Something that he liked. Because he didn't hesitate in protecting you, even after that."

Jane cleared her throat, shifting her focus on the book in her hands. Thor might've still been gazing at her, when she had a thought.

"You know what's funny?" she said. "You told me that Loki liked Sif, right? The more I think about it, I suppose I can see it. But what I think is funny, is that it says here in the book... Hm, lemme see if I can find it..." Jane flipped pages until she landed on a page that listed the different gods in the mythology, along with their character descriptions. She pointed at the page_._ "Here's Sif. And _all_ it says about her is: 'Thor's wife'!"

Jane glanced up, waiting for a quick response from him—a word of denial, or a look of confusion, or a laugh of disbelief…

His cheeks were beet red, and his eyes stared wide at her.

He was silent for a long time. Then he choked—and winced, as if he were trying to laugh and frown at the same time, and ended up failing at both.

His gaze flickered past Jane—distant, as his forehead knotted.

"My wife..." he breathed. At first it sounded like a question...

But then, the longer it hung in the air—the longer the fire crackled—the longer his cheeks blushed—the longer his eyes gazed distantly—his words started to settle, and it sounded more like a revelation.

That feeling in Jane's gut returned again. It twisted and twisted, until she couldn't take it any more...

She shut the book suddenly with a _thump,_ and sat forward, setting it back down on the table.

Then...

A muffled sound pierced through the silence. It came from a short distance, across the room. Rap music.

_"This ain't that haughty, haughty ho..."_

Thor frowned at her.

"You still haven't changed that...?"

Jane glanced away and rolled her eyes.

"Not yet. Lemme get that."

She crankily got up from the couch. Going round it, she went straight for the kitchen table, and snatched up her purse. She reached in and dug inside it, eventually pulling out her phone. Before she answered, she quickly glanced at the caller ID. It wasn't a number that she recognized, but she wasn't letting any phone calls got to voicemail these last several days, in case it was someone calling with more news on her nomination...

Jane hit the answer button and pulled the phone up to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Foster?" the man spoke rapid-fire. "This is Tony Stark."

Jane's inner voice screamed. "Stark? As in..." she gasped, trying to untangle her thoughts as well as her tongue. "_The_ Tony Stark? Of Stark Industries?"

"A.k.a. Iron Man," he replied casually.

Jane knew that by working for S.H.I.E.L.D., and by association through Thor, she'd already practically rubbed shoulders with this man. Even so, she'd never actually _spoken_ to him. In fact, it felt downright surreal. She began to pace the kitchen floor, trying not to breathe to heavily as he spoke...

"So, you know, I was actually planning to fly up to London and introduce myself in person. Y'know...make it not so gross and impersonal." He clicked his tongue. "But then things got busy, with S.H.I.E.L.D. having its little crisis, so...it's fine. Whatever. I'm not mad. Anyways... Listen. It's a real honor getting to talk to a...fellow genius such as yourself. Your theories on multiple realm cosmology, as well as the convergence theory are utterly fantastic. Really, they should award you a prize already. Which reminds me: Congrats on the nomination. I _may've_ had a hand in that, by the way, so...you're welcome."

Jane's cheeks heated, and she grinned like an idiot.

"Gee, uh...thanks. Thanks so much!" she stuttered tactlessly. "I've...been a really big fan of yours. Too."

She winced, and felt like kicking herself for sounding less like an astrophysicist with a PhD and more like a little schoolgirl talking to her favorite celebrity...

"Awesome. I'm glad we're finally connecting," Tony said, his speech growing faster. "Because I've been totally meaning to invite you to my lab, since I discovered your work. I thought I could give you the grand tour of A-tower—introduce you to Pepper. She could really use more girlfriends, y'know. You two would get along. And then after you tinker with all the toys, we could sit around with some drinks and just talk—put our heads together and come up with something that'll totally blow everybody's minds. This is totally happening."

Jane nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, yes! Count me in."

"Sweet," Stark said, sucking in a breath. "Hey, listen...Is Thor there by any chance?"

Her stomach sank, just a bit. She gave a glance towards the living room. Thor was watching her.

"Yes. He's here," Jane replied. "You wanted to speak with him?"

"Yep," Stark snapped. "Avengers business."

"Oh, all right. Hang on a minute."

Jane lowered the phone from her ear and covered the receiving end with her hand. She quickly strode up to the living area, and came round the couch, facing Thor.

"It's Tony Stark," Jane said. "He wants to talk to _you._"

VVV

"Well…What do you think?"

Loki held out his hand in a tight fist. He had removed his gauntlet and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his bare skin to the flamelight of the healing room.

Amora stood facing him with her arms crossed, staring at the rune marking the back of his hand.

She looked at him. Then back down at his hand.

Loki clenched his fingers tighter—they started to feel weak and trembling. He hated the way her eyes stayed on him, examined him. He hated the lingering silence and the twisting in his gut. He hated how _naked_—how _exposed_ he felt. He no longer breathed soundlessly. His ears filled with the sound of his heartbeat. But he kept perfectly still, waiting for her to pronounce her diagnosis.

A twinge of pain shot from the back of his hand up to his right shoulder. He sucked in a breath. It seemed _it_ didn't like being exposed either.

"It is hard to say," Amora finally spoke, shaking her head. "I have never seen anything like it before, in all my travels." Her gray eyes lifted. "Before I say what I think, I'd like to know what _you_ think."

Loki gulped, staring down at the mark. His throat went dry as he stared at it. It conjured up images he never wished to think on—images of a dark, forsaken realm—a shadow with blue eyes that burned, and never lost sight of him, and filled him with a fear that would never leave him.

His throat closed. He knew Amora awaited his answer, but he couldn't tell her of the fear which plagued him night and day. He couldn't...

He dared not utter _his_ name.

So he drew up his head, his jaw clenching.

"Well, it would seem like I am..." he started low and careful, searching for the right word. His eyes shifted to the golden tiles on the walls, unable to look her in the eye. "...cursed."

Loki saw Amora nod in the edge of his vision.

"Right. I would agree. Poison would be my other guess." She cocked her head. "And I'm sure you understand the meaning of the rune, as I do? Its negative connotation? It stands for _failure_, and _bad luck, _does it not?"

"_Failure, bondage..._" Loki listed, jerking his head towards her. "_Slavery. Possession._"

"So...this mark might be a sign that someone or some_thing_ did this to you," Amora surmised. "And now it's latched onto you, this curse—whatever it is. Controlling you, and possessing you."

Loki's gaze hardened and he didn't reply. He only backed up a step and leaned against the stone examination table, studying her as she paced the floor, allowing her to draw her own conclusions.

"I'm starting to recall legends that speak of such things," Amora went on excitedly. "Hexes, and accursed beings...brandings on skin...You did say that you were in Svartalfheim?"

Loki just nodded.

"Well, that place is _teeming_ with ancient magic," she said. "You might have stumbled upon an ancient curse of some kind. In the ground, or in the air..." She lifted her eyes to him. "And you're certain you don't recall anything about the mark _before_ you awoke, here in Asgard?"

Loki drew in a breath.

He made a firm nod, careful not to let her see the darkness in his eyes...

"I am certain," he lied.

Amora dropped her arms, resting her hands on her hips as she turned, fully facing him. She tilted her head to one side, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Here's something I still don't understand," she said, tilting her head to the other side. "As king of Asgard, you have the finest magicians and healers in all the realm at your disposal. You could've asked any one of them for help, but you didn't." She lowered her chin and bore her gaze into him. "Why come to _me?_"

Loki gripped the edge of the stone table and crossed his ankles. He shrugged, his eyebrows lifting.

"Because I have no need for a magician, or a healer. I knew they'd be useless," he explained. "When you want something stolen, what do you do? You hire a thief. When you want someone _killed_, who do you hire? You hire an assassin. And when you're dealing with curses, and black magic, you hire a sorceress."

Amora's eyes glinted. Her mouth slowly lifted into a smile.

"I thought the All-Father forbade the use of such magic," she reminded him.

"Even he knew when to break his own rules," Loki countered. "Besides, he is no longer here. And if he couldn't stop this thing inside me, with all his power, then we can't hope to use light magic to defeat this. We must play by _its_ rules."

"The only way to know if it's dark magic we're dealing with is if it can be sensed by another. I wonder what your _seidr_ looks like, right now."

"It's still intact."

"Yes," Amora granted. "But maybe it's changed, and you're not able to sense it. If I weave my tendrils around you, maybe I can pick up on the dark energy, too."

She took two steps forward, standing just a few feet in front of him. She looked him up and down.

"Alright. I'll need you to strip. Take off your coat, and your shirt."

Loki gripped the edge of the table and glared.

"Don't be absurd."

"Come on, you have to, or else it will not work," she insisted.

"No," he growled, not budging a muscle. "A _good_ sorcerer doesn't need to use anything but magic. Only amateurs use their eyes. Don't you remember a thing I taught you?"

"Fine then," Amora snapped. She lifted her hand—the palm of her fingerless glove faced up. "Give me your hand."

Loki complied, stiffly lifting his right arm and extending it towards her. She gripped his forearm from below. Their skin touched and Loki flinched, a tingle shooting up his veins. But she didn't react. She stared down at the black rune before lifting her other hand with spread fingers, and hovered over his hand.

She flicked her fingers, and Loki could feel her magic shoot out from each digit into the air. It wove around their hands in bright greens, like his magic—though different. Her tendrils began to poke, and he felt his magic resist hers. But he set his jaw and allowed her access.

Her eyes still shut, she wove her magic into his skin and veins. He felt it prod through his entire body.

But then the magic that focused on his hand shot into him like a hot laser through his wrist.

"Gah!" he gasped, trying to pull his hand away, but she tightened her grip immediately.

"Hold still!" she grunted, her eyes blinking.

"But you're trying to burn a hole through my hand!" Loki cried.

"No I am _not!_ I'm trying to look within you," she insisted, trying to shut her eyes once more.

"Well, you're not doing a very good job," Loki frowned, his hand tightening into a fist.

She let out a throaty sigh, removing her top hand and opening her eyes.

"It's not _me _hurting you," she muttered. "It's the thing inside you."

Loki's eyes widened minutely as she continued.

"I do sense it. It's definitely black magic. And it is thick, all over you. Especially around the mark. Which must not have liked me."

"So you can sense it, too," Loki stated, though he meant it as a question. "It's all emanating from the mark."

"Almost. It's definitely the strongest around that area," she agreed.

Loki dropped his gaze to where she looked—to the black mark. He set his jaw.

"Then perhaps we should just...cut it off."

"What? Cut off your hand?"

"Why not?" Loki wondered, lifting his eyes to her. "Cut off the root that's poisoning the tree."

"Well, I suppose you could try..." Amora laughed.

"I'm absolutely serious," Loki said, his voice low. "I know it's extreme. But if all else fails..."

"The trouble is, I don't think it's just in your hand," Amora stopped him. "I can sense it. It's all over. It's not coming from the mark. It's more like it's a part of you, and it's overshadowing you. In fact, I can hardly even sense your _seidr_." Her eyes ran over his body, her brow twisting, but her mouth lifting into a fascinated smile, too. "If you're in any kind of physical pain, you're going to have to tell me. Because I won't be able to sense it."

"Wonderful," Loki bit out, shifting his weight. "Now, since further examination will be utterly useless, would you mind releasing me?"

She was still hanging on tightly to his right wrist. She only lifted a brow, and continued to stare at his hand.

"First, I want to try something," she said.

"What?" he asked. But instead of answering, she reached up with her free hand. This time it held a thin metal wire, all bent and crooked—she must've had it with her, for picking locks or who-knows-what...

Before he had time to protest, she pressed the tip of the wire to his skin, pricking the mark. He flinched in anticipation, expected to feel immediate pain. But all he felt was a tiny, imperceptible poke.

"Does that hurt?" she asked.

"No." He stared at the wire as it traced the lines of the black rune, and scraped lightly against its slightly-raised edges. True, the scarred tissue felt a bit more tender than regular skin—but it didn't shock him or make him recoil.

Then, suddenly, before his very eyes—the black markings started to fade. The runemark disappeared into his skin.

Amora blinked, and pulled her hand away.

"Where did it go?" she gasped flatly.

"I don't know," Loki answered, glancing up at her, then back down at perfectly clear skin, with no traces of black at all.

Amora pulled her hand away, allowing Loki to turn his wrist over in the fiery light, examining every angle of his arm. Still, nothing.

Then, without either of them saying or doing anything, it began to appear again, starting from the center of his wrist, and branching out. Loki's heart dropped—but he knew it had to return, just as it did before.

"That is bizarre," Amora breathed. "How in the realms did it do that?"

"Black magic," Loki supposed.

"It's not an actual brand at all," Amora realized. "The mark can hide inside of you! It could've been part of the cause, but I think it's more of a _manifestation._ I think we should start conducting some experiments, to see if we can cleanse the curse from your system." She finally pulled away and took a step back. She tapped her fingers to her lips, letting out a low hum as she thought. "Maybe we should start with some potions. I could even make you one that'll help jog your memory—"

"Already tried," Loki interrupted her. "Didn't work."

"Well that's because you didn't let _me_ make the potion," she reproached him, then made herself tall, speaking proudly: "I don't go by the recipes."

"But you _will_ go by the recipes with me," Loki charged her. "I am _not_ about to get poisoned on top of everything else!"

Amora rolled her eyes and huffed.

"Well, you're no fun."

Loki lowered his chin.

"This isn't a game, Amora. You need to keep me alive, or else you won't be seeing your _precious_ sister again. Understood?"

Amora set her jaw and stared back at him.

She eventually nodded.

"Good," Loki snapped. "Now what else have you got?"

"Well, let's see..." Amora glanced away. She absently tapped her heel against the golden floors, and tapped her chin. "There are lots of ways to pass a curse from one vessel to another. We could try connecting you to something. It has to be something living..."

Loki's eyebrows twisted together.

"What do you mean...like an _animal?_"

"Yes. Something that at least has half a soul," she clarified.

"Animals don't have _half_ of a soul," he argued, his voice rising. "If we cursed an animal, we'd have to kill it. I'd rather not..."

"It doesn't have to be a nice animal, you know...a horse or a dog. It doesn't even have to be _one_ animal...It could be a whole group of detestable creatures. Ones that bite, or sting, or crawl. Ones that wouldn't be missed..." She snapped her fingers, her eyes flashing. "I know! We could use leeches."

"Leeches?" Loki asked. He recalled the inky-black, worm-like creatures that one could find in one of Asgard's lakes, and how they squirm and stick to the hulls of ships...

Then his mind flew back, as they reminded him of something else, and his entire frame went rigid.

"No..." Loki's voice shook. "No leeches..."

"Oh, but they'd work so well for our purposes!" Amora continued, ignoring him. "They'll already be eager to latch onto your skin, so I probably wouldn't even have to cast any spells on you. They'd just do all the work on their own. They'd suck the curse right out of you—!"

"I_ said,_" Loki gnarled lowly. Then he leaned in so he breathed near to her face. "_No_ leeches."

Amora's face hardly flinched. Unmoving, she crossed her arms, and huffed angrily.

"You know, we're not going to get _anywhere _if you keep on shooting down every single thing I suggest!" she said sharply. "What's wrong with leeches, anyway? Make you queasy?"

Loki froze, his breaths coming heavily. He lowered his voice to a deathly whisper.

"Have you ever heard of the _Leviathan?_"

Amora shook her head.

"No. Why? Should I have?" she answered.

"They are a race of beasts. They dwell outside the nine realms, in uninhabited space," he explained lowly. "They make their nests inside barren moons. They grow to be the size of whales—colossal and destructive, with razor-sharp teeth and a steel-like shell of armor."

Loki momentarily shut his eyes, a shiver coursing through him. Then he opened his eyes to Amora's cold ones. He continued, his voice beginning to falter.

"But when they are just larvae," he said, his gut feeling sick, "They are small. They're about the size of your hand. Black, cold, and slimy...they writhe about, and cling onto your skin, just like _leeches._"

She continued to stare at him. His chest tightened. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, and turned his head away.

"Two years ago, during my yearlong exile, I fell into the hands of the Chitauri. Eventually, I became their leader. But before that, I was at their mercy. One time, they granted me the pleasure of spending the night in one of the Leviathan's nests. They tied me up—threw me down a deep hole in the jagged rock. It was pitch black, and I couldn't see...but I felt them, as they swarmed me."

"And you _let_ them crawl all over you?" Amora questioned.

"I couldn't do anything," Loki shot back. "I was bound. There was no magic in that place, so I couldn't use that. I also had a broken rib. There was only one way out, and I couldn't climb. I had to endure it...as they'd inch across my face, spreading their slime through my hair. One even found its way into my boot. And I quickly found that it was no good if I screamed. Because when I tried opening my mouth..."

Loki's throat spasmed. His shoulders shuddered, and he blinked away mist...

Amora made a gagging sound.

"That is...absolutely disgusting," she remarked.

Loki's voice became venomous, as he continued to stare at the wall. His tone turned cold.

"They put me through hell."

A long silence fell between them.

Then Amora let out a sigh, and spoke.

"So, no leeches, then. I'm sure we can think of another creature we could use..."

Loki lifted his hand.

"I think that's enough for one night." He uncrossed his feet, snatched up his hand armor and gauntlet, and moved away from the table. He began crossing over to the other side of the room, in the direction of the golden doorway. Behind him, he heard Amora turn around.

"When can I see my sister?"

Loki slowed and inclined his head, but didn't turn. He kept walking.

"When I am perfectly well. And the mark is gone."

VVV

Night had fallen.

The door to Jane's room had shut hours ago, and her lamp went out not long after that.

But Thor hadn't slept. He hadn't even gone to his bedchambers. He sat still, on the edge of the couch, with his hand folded in front of his mouth. He stared at a few lone embers which glowed red in the hearth—the fire had died out long ago—a hollow ache steadily growing in his heart.

At last, he bolted up, shaking off a shiver. He stood in the darkness and silence.

Then his eyes wandered down to the coffee table. Mjolnir sat there, with its handle angled towards him, only a foot away.

Thor stared at it, setting his jaw.

He hesitated. Then he stretched out his hand, towards it, spreading his fingers...

He waited...

Nothing.

The hammer didn't budge an inch for him.

Thor's hand shook as he lowered it to his side. But he did not feel alarm, or surprise—this only confirmed what he already knew to be true—what he had been feeling all this time...

He was losing himself.

Or had already lost himself.

Thor shut his eyes, opened his mouth, and let out a trembling breath. Then he slowly turned, facing away from the coffee table. He took a step forward, towards the moonlight shining through the windows, its beams in long stripes across the carpet and tile floors.

He stepped up to the sliding glass door, peering out into the empty balcony. He gripped the handle and shoved it to the left, feeling a rush of cool, night air hit his skin.

He breathed the scent of rain, earth, and flowers. He stepped onto puddled wood and wet leaves, and gently shut the door behind him. He turned again, noticing the honeysuckle flowers had mostly withered away. But as he advanced towards the balcony's edge, all he could see were the stars.

The clouds had cleared. The stars twinkled brilliantly. Not even the moon or the city lights shone so radiantly.

Thor lifted his head, gazing straight above him at the center of the sky. There he found a single star that outshone the rest: Loki's Torch.

It was the only Midgardian star he always knew how to find. Because it was a compass. Loki had taught him once that as long as he knew how to find it, wherever he was on Midgard, it would always point him north. So if anything should ever separate them, he could find his way home.

Thor had given it the name "Loki's torch," even though the Midgardians gave it the name "Sirius." Even now, it seemed to call to him—reaching down to him from the distance, filling Thor's chest with light, as well as with pain.

The rest of the stars began to blur around that one star—and he stood still, breathing the night air, unable to take his eyes from it.

The pang in his chest reached his throat, and he gasped—unable to withhold the tears brimming in his eyes. Two of them fell down his cheeks.

He lowered his head and choked. His shoulders shook, as he allowed himself to weep, for the first time since he had left Asgard.

Asgard. His true home. His only home...

He missed it, terribly.

He missed the crash of waterfalls, the sound of seagulls crooning, and the sight of the ocean waves. He missed the stars and the constellations that he _knew. _He missed the familiar clothing, and his horse, and the golden halls, and the green, open fields. He missed all the places that he knew—and more than that—the familiar faces.

He missed his father, who he had left, too much in haste to even think what he was doing. Sif was right: he should never have abandoned him, especially when his father needed him most.

Sif. He missed her, too—realizing that he desperately needed company like hers again. She understood him. She always knew just what to say—reminding him often of who he truly was. Even if the truth was painful, she'd still tell him, because she cared.

Others that he missed, he knew he would never see their faces again. Not until the day that he died. Mother, who was torn from him in an eye-blink. She was gone before he had a chance to say goodbye...

And Loki, who died too swiftly—and like gold turned to sand, fell through Thor's fingers, and out of his grasp.

"I am sorry, Loki," Thor choked, as more tears fell. He shut his eyes, shaking his head. "I let you down. I should've brought you home...I never should have left you there, all alone. Please, please forgive me..."

His shoulders shook again, as he cried aloud. He had tried to run away from it, for all this time—lying to himself that he could escape everything that was a part of him, and forever would be.

Worst of all, he had lied to Jane. Kind Jane, who had always been of help. But it wasn't her fault that she couldn't see, or understand him. It wasn't her fault that their fondness of each other wasn't enough.

Thor shut his eyes.

He had to leave. And he would have to tell her why. But how?

There was no easy way. He didn't even know if he could explain it all without sounding like a fool, or worse—saying something foolish that would stab her in the heart. He couldn't bear that, when she had always meant well.

Opening his eyes, he looked out towards the city streets. He suddenly knew what he had to do.

VVV

Jane awoke the next day to a ray of sunlight hitting her eyes, which peeked through the window blinds. She yawned and groaned, stretching in bed for a while, before sitting up in bed.

She glanced over at her shut door and sighed, jitters in her stomach.

She rose and went to the bathroom, where she washed her face and brushed her teeth, studying her face in the mirror as she did.

Her chestnut hair and her light brown eyes looked very plain, especially when she hadn't brushed her hair or put any make-up on. Her thoughts turned to a certain Lady from Asgard—her dark, wavy hair that shone like silk, and her sharp, green eyes. The stark difference between her and Jane must've been absolutely apparent to Thor. And to Loki...

She shook that thought and stormed out of the bathroom, going to her closet. She picked out something a little less casual than what she usually wore on Saturdays. She went for a black and white striped sweater, and some dark, dressy jeans. She went back into the bathroom and took five minutes longer than usual to put on her make-up. She brushed out her bed-hair, and took one last look at herself in the mirror before heading towards the door. She drew in a deep breath before turning the knob.

The morning sun shone through the glass windows, brightening the apartment more than usual. The place felt very quiet, almost empty. She glanced over towards the guest room, and the door stood open, just a crack. _Thor must still be sleeping,_ she thought, as she walked past it and went towards the kitchen. Her mind was already ten paces ahead of her, pondering what brand of coffee she should make, or if she had any pancake mix left in the pantry, when suddenly she froze before the kitchen table.

Her usual pot of dandelions was gone. In the center of the table lay a cluster of flowers tied together with a single ribbon. If they were store-bought, all the plastic had been removed.

As she stepped closer, she saw what kind of flowers they were: purple hyacinths, and pale pink carnations.

Since Thor and she had spoken of the language of flowers weeks ago, Jane had grown interested in the topic and picked up a book about it from the library, to learn more.

Searching her mind, she remembered what the purple hyacinths meant:

_Sorrow. I am sorry, _and_ Please forgive me_.

And the pink carnations, if she remembered correctly, meant...

_ I shall never forget you._

Jane hadn't stopped shaking her head, or mouthing "no." She lifted her eyes, vision blurring.

She glanced all around, dazed, searching the sunlit apartment, now keenly aware of the silence, and the lack of any other presence. Her eyes fell on the coffee table in the living room, where she noticed Mjolnir was gone.

Her heart immediately crashed to the floor.

Thor had truly left her.

All her work, all her hopes, all her dreams...

Gone.

VVV

_To be continued!_

Thanks for all your awesome reviews. Be sure to check out Trengsel's facebook page for news, my recent one-shot: "The Monster Parents Tell Their Children About At Night", and the trailer for Trengsel on my youtube channel (darthxerik)!


	8. The Night Mare

_ Finally...an update! I hope I never go on a hiatus like that again! Unfortunately it was necessary, and the story can only get better now that I am charged. I cannot wait to hear what you all think! Prepare thyselves, because this chapter's going to be...well, intense. ;) Can't say I didn't warn yah! Enjoy!  
_

VVV

CHAPTER EIGHT

"THE NIGHT MARE"

_VVV_

"If I told you what I was

Would you turn your back on me?

And if I seem dangerous

Would you be scared?

I get the feeling just because

Everything I touch isn't dark enough

If this problem lies in me

I'm only a man with a candle to guide me

I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me

A monster, a monster

I've turned into a monster

A monster, a monster...

And it keeps getting stronger."

\- Imagine Dragons, _Monster_

_VVV_

"Getting sleepy?"

Loki finished a yawn. He lifted his eyes from his book, blinking.

"No. You?"

"Not at all..." Amora trailed off, meeting his eyes for a moment, before pressing her lips tight, and flipping a page in her book.

They sat on opposite sides of a table, surrounding them in books. Neat, orderly stacks sat on either side of Loki's, marking his side of the table.

But her side of the table was just the opposite. Her books lay in a disordered mess—not in piles, but in heaps. Some even littered the fur rug under the table, surrounding the legs of Amora's chair.

She presently played with one of her braids absently, as her gray eyes remained completely absorbed on her thick spellbook, which sat on the edge of the table underneath one of her elbows.

Loki sighed lightly. He fell against the backrest of his chair, focusing his weary eyes once more on the pages of his book. He skipped down paragraphs of runes on the left page, until his eyes landed on one particular sentence, taking up where he had left off.

Left to right, he deciphered the runes, stringing words and phrases together with ease. But then it hit him: this was the fourth or fifth time he had re-read this very same sentence.

He gave a frustrated sigh, and quickly resolved to skip ahead to the next page. Just when he began to interpret the topmost line, a sound made his thought process grind to a halt.

Amora had decided it was a good idea to begin humming to herself.

And not only that...

She was terribly off-pitch.

Loki bit the inside of his cheek, recalling that singing was never Amora's strongest suit. But apparently, no one ever had the guts to tell her. For even after five centuries, she continued in her subconscious habit, presently filling the study with that irritating sound, bouncing off the bookshelves that lined the walls, and reverberating in the rafters in the ceiling above their heads. Loki could've even sworn it made the cartwheel chandelier rock to and fro over their heads.

"Stop it," he said, unable to take it any longer.

She looked up from her book innocently.

"Stop what?"

"Making that dreadful noise," he answered. "It's giving me a headache."

"_Everything_ gives you a headache," she chuckled, crossing her arms more tightly over her book and leaning forward. After a moment of blessed silence, she let out a deep, drawn-out groan from the base of her throat.

"I am _so_ bored," she complained ruefully, staring up at the ceiling.

"Too bad," Loki shot back, sinking his gaze deeper into the book.

"I'm telling you. Every single book in this stupid old library is completely, and utterly useless."

"Or perhaps it's not the books that are at fault," Loki countered, draping a finger over his lips.

"Well, I suggest we call it a night," she said, landing her hands on the table, and pushing herself up.

"And I suggest you sit back down," Loki ordered, shooting her a look.

She wore a long, black gown today—Amora's favorite of the gowns the Mistress of Robes had provided—which swirled about Amora's legs as she rose from her chair. Its beaded detailing which ran along her fitted sleeves in the shape of snakes glittered in the light of the fireplace, as she rounded the corner of the table, and reached for her satchel which hung from the chair at the head.

"These books aren't going anywhere, you know," she told him.

"And neither are you," Loki pointed out.

She roughly set her satchel down on the table, and Loki could feel her stare shoot through him as she folded her arms.

"You seem to forget, Loki, that once you have dropped that illusion of yours...you are no longer the king."

"Actually, I still am," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Well, then. Even a king must sleep." She whispered, approaching him. "You wouldn't want to fall asleep in the presence of your courtiers in the morn, now would you?"

"Shut up," he snapped. She halted and gaped at him.

"Did you just ask me to shut up?"

"No. I'm _ordering_ you to shut up," he clarified.

She narrowed her eyes, her mouth lifting by the edges.

"Fine. If preventing me from doing my work is your wish...you shall have it."

"I'm not asking you to stop working," Loki explained, leaning forward in his chair. "I'm asking you to leave me in peace! I am trying to read, and I can't go on with your incessant yapping."

"Oh, yes..._'_trying' being the key word!" she chuckled. "You know what I've noticed? I've noticed that you haven't flipped a page for _at least_ half an hour. Either you've forgotten how to _read, _or someone can't even _think_ because they haven't gotten the rest they've needed."

Loki's brows drew together.

"And since when did you care so much about my health?"

"Ever since it became my job. How about that?"

"Then I thank you kindly for your concern. But there's really no need," Loki said as he waved his hand dismissively and returned to his book. "Sleep is for the weak, as they say."

Amora grunted, her boots thudding against the floor as she came stomping his way.

Loki barely had time to react, as her hand grabbed his book from above, and ripped it right out of his grasp.

"Hey!" Loki protested, reaching up as she lifted it over her head.

"You'll_ let_ me do my job. By shutting up, and letting me take the reins," she asserted, maintaing the book out of his reach. She let her proposition hang for a moment, then canted her head with a crooked smile. "Or else, I pack my bags and leave...tonight."

Loki narrowed his eyes up at her, a subtle smile flickering across his lips.

Then he gradually eased himself back into his chair, lowering his elbows onto the armrests.

"Fine," he sighed. "I'm listening."

Her smile widened. She bounced on her heel as she turned, and strode towards the head of the table.

"Well, I was thinking..." she began. "We could give one of my spells another go...I know _just_ the one—"

"No no no," Loki whispered, shaking his head. "What did we say about that accursed book of yours? No more enchantments of that kind!" Amora's whole body drooped.

"But why not?" she moaned.

"Because the last time we tried one of those, you lit the stool in the healing room on fire...while I was sitting on it."

"That_ is_ true..." she chuckled, gazing down at the rug. "It was an ugly stool, though. You must concede it."

"Or what about the time before that...?" Loki recalled, gripped his armrest tight. "I nearly _drowned _that time..."

"Not my fault you're such a graceless swimmer," she laughed in defense.

"My point is," he said, lifting up a hand. "This spell had better not end in disaster. Or else I'll be lighting that book of yours on fire myself, by the time the spell's through."

"You shall not regret it," she swore in false solemnity. "Now, hand me my satchel."

She pointed to a bag lying on the table in front of him.

"I don't take orders from you," he said, even as he leaned over and reached for her satchel. "Consider it an act of goodwill." He grabbed the bag by the pouch, and tossed it into the air. She made the catch—right before it hit her face.

"You're too kind," she told him sarcastically, lowering the bag. She then lifted the flap and dug through its contents. Soon, she pulled forth her black, leather book; the one that bore no embellishments or markings.

Flipping through its pages as she walked, she eventually rounded the table from the other side, pulling up right next to his right armrest.

Loki instinctively lowered his right arm into his lap as she faced the table and landed her book upon it with a heavy _thump. _Loki had to sit up straight and peer down his nose to get a good glimpse of the pages, as she flipped.

Hundreds of symbols flew past his eyes: pentagrams, diagrams and other strange images he did not even recognize. The pages released a scent, like old pinewood, with a sour hint of something decayed or having gone rotten.

The paper looked extremely worn, with several edges possibly burnt in a fire, which seemed perfectly probable, in light of how Amora typically handled things.

"Aha! Yes," Amora exclaimed, as she smoothed the pages with her hands. "Here it is."

Loki lowered his eyes, drawn to a large circle drawn in black ink on the right page. Tiny runes wrapped about it, and at its center was drawn a seven-sided star in a dotted line.

And at the star's center, stood a silhouetted figure drawn in black ink. It had horns. Nothing else identified the creature.

Loki glanced back to the top of the left page, where larger runes made up the title of the spell. It took him a moment to interpret the scribbled handwriting, cruder than the script he usually found in Asgard's spell books...

"A summoning spell?" Loki asked as soon as he read it. His brow twisting as he looked at her. "_That's_ your brilliant idea?"

"It's worth a try, at least," Amora reasoned. "If our failed experiments have taught us anything, it's that we could use a higher power greater than our own to get this job done."

Loki swallowed, and spoke in a lower tone.

"You're talking about Those Who Sit Above In Shadow."

"No. I'm talking about something far more sinister..." Amora whispered even deathlier than he. Their eyes met—hers flashed. "I mean to summon up one from the netherworld."

A silence fell. As if all the air had just been sucked out of the room.

He leaned away from her, eyeing her with intensity.

"Careful, Amora," he warned, lifting a finger. "You think yourself clever. But Asgard forbade such magic for a reason."

She only pressed her lips together into a thin smile. "What? Too scared to try it?"

Loki breathed. He curled his pointed finger down.

"Of course not," he scoffed.

"Good. Then you have no reason to object," she said lightly. He lifted his hand once more to object.

"But suppose we only make matters worse? I mean...folk from the netherworld aren't typically a helpful bunch."

"Which is why I have someone very special in mind, for your case in particular. She herself has been well acquainted with curses."

"Who?"

Amora glanced down at him, narrowing her eyes. She cocked her head to one side, as she lifted her eyes to the bookshelves on the opposite side of the room.

"Did you ever hear the lullaby of the Night Mare, as a child?"

A memory flashed through Loki's mind—

Of candlelight, and dark blue walls—painted with glittering stars in the ceiling.

Of soft sheets, and thick furs, pulled up over his nose. Of a voice warmer than flame—his mother, sitting at his bedside. Of her hands stroking his, as she gently sang him to sleep...

"Of course I have," Loki replied curtly, turning away. "Who hasn't?"

"Then do you remember the words?" she asked, before going silent.

"Well, yes," he boasted, drawing in breath and speaking rapidly. "_'On the wings of the wind, in the shadows of eve; the Notte Mara rides in, to bind those who dream'_—but what about it?"

"Don't you see?" she faced him, "It's more than just a lullaby. It's a protection spell."

"A protection spell," he echoed doubtfully.

"Right! Why else do you think our parents sang it to us as children?"

Loki glanced sideways in a frown, and thought.

"To frighten us, I suppose."

"No! It was to keep the Night Mare away!" she explained, getting down in his face. "Her _name,_ Loki. _That's_ the power of the spell! Uttering it makes her flee...or _come,_ in our case."

"But _really,_ Amora?" Loki chuckled, lifting his brow. "You spoke of some 'higher power,' only to bring up a fairytale...?"

"She is _not _a fairytale!" she bellowed, louder than Loki would've expected, as she drew back, facing him. Loki's smile lowered, seeing her neck muscles taut, having gone red. "I've seen her," she testified lowly. "With my very eyes."

Loki searched between them. They seemed to be open and sincere.

"And...?" he requested.

"And, the first time that I saw her..." Amora went on quietly, "she was standing at the foot of my sister's bed. Like a shadow, ready to crawl on top of her. But as soon as I uttered the _Notte Mara's _name—I have no idea how I knew it would work—she fled, without a trace. Since then, I have only seen her on two more occasions. I learned, by experience, that she is attracted to those who deal with...or carry strong traces of dark magic—"

"Those who are cursed. Like her," Loki concluded.

Amora nodded in silence.

"So, if what you're saying is true...and that you can, in fact, conjure up this demon from the netherworld..." Loki glanced over at her black book. "Then, all that's left to worry about, I suppose...is whether or not we can actually _get _her to lend us her power and knowledge."

Amora took a step towards him, smiling.

"And_ that_ is where I thought your famed negotiation skills could come into play." Loki's eyebrows flicked up at her, as he tapped a finger against his lips.

"Happily. Though, I do suspect she'll want something of ours in return. None of these deals ever come without a price."

"Indeed, they don't," Amora agreed, "But, perhaps...you_ could _offer her something she values: one of your dreams. She is, after all, the Mother of Nightmares! That may be enough to entice her."

"By putting a risk to my sanity?" he mocked.

"Not much of it left to risk, is there?" she happily pointed out. "And besides...she may even be able to bring back your memories. She has the power to access them."

Loki turned his head, and looked at her, his expression sobering.

"That's..." he uttered thoughtfully. "Actually not such a bad idea."

Amora showed a triumphant grin, bouncing on her heel to face the table.

"If it can work," he added.

"Of course it will," Amora she bit back confidently, shutting up her black book and stuffing it in her satchel, before swinging the strap over her shoulder. "Now, let's get to work, while the moon is still out."

VVV

Several hours later, Loki stood toeing the edge of the circular pool which marked the far end of Odin's gold-plated bedchamber. He stared down into the perfectly tranquil waters, which hadn't stirred for over a minute. His fingers fidgeted, tapping against his pant leg.

"Well, why isn't it working?" he finally asked.

Amora sighed roughly. She lifted her spell book nearer to her eyes, and tore through its pages.

"I'm working on it," she mumbled in reply.

"Well, perhaps you should be quicker about it," he suggested, peering over her shoulder.

"Well, perhaps I _would_ be quicker—if someone weren't acting so impatient, and breathing down my neck half the time," she bit back with a pointed glare.

"It's not impatience. It's criticism," Loki clarified. "But on top of your snail-like pace, you clearly missed something of importance."

"I did not _miss_ something of importance..." she retorted, landing on the page of instructions—which they had supposedly completed—scanning down each line with a tightened brow. "We did everything that is on this list! We shut all the doors, and airlocked the room—did you dismiss all the guards, like I asked?"

"I sent them to the outer halls," Loki confirmed. "They won't be disturbing us."

"Good. And then I placed a sound barrier spell over the room, so the rest of the palace doesn't hear a peep as we go about raising hell."

"Quite literally," Loki remarked, with a subtle smirk.

"And we lit the candles, and snuffed out the torches," Amora recounted, going further down the list. "There should be thirty-nine of them."

Loki joined her in lifting his head and counting the wax candles that encircled them on the floor. They had no stands, and provided the only light in the shadowed room.

"Yes, thirty-nine," she nodded, completing the math just a split-second before he did. "And we drew the circle..."

Loki's gaze lowered, and wrapped around the pool's edge to the black line they had drawn—a mud they had mixed using Svartalfheim sand, and enchanted water. The thick strokes were nearly dry, and there were no gaps in the line that he could see.

"And you poured the final ingredients into the pool, correct?" Loki asked, angling towards her.

"Brewed the bones, the leaves, and the beetles," she affirmed. "This stupid book must've left something out, because I did everything right!"

"Oh, now we must blame the book," he snickered.

"There must be a footnote, or—or a page! One that was ripped out," she insisted, flipping the page back and forth and examining the binding.

"...So you missed something." Loki maintained.

"No!" Amora denied. "It's...something's wrong with the equation. There must be a hidden variable—a missing ingredient marking the end of the spell—something! What could we possibly be forgetting?"

"We?" he underlined. "Do not drag _me_ into your bout of forgetfulness...I haven't lifted a finger for this one, having merely observed—"

Amora's head came up with a smile, as she snapped her fingers.

"That's it!"

"_What's_ it?"

"The missing ingredient!" she exclaimed, lowering her gaze down to his hands...

"I'm not sure what you're getting at—" Loki said, shifting his weight.

"You don't happen to have your knife about you, do you?" she asked, seemingly out-of-the-blue. He lifted a brow.

"Why do you ask...?"

"Because we're going to need it...that's why," she answered sharply. "To draw some of your blood."

"What?" Loki said, pulling back. "Why?"

"Every summoning spell requires a drop of blood," she reminded him in condescension. "I would think you of all people should recall the rudimentary basics of sorcery..."

"Yes...but why can't it be _your_ blood?" he asked, gesturing at her.

"Because _I'm_ not the one who's going to be doing all the talking, remember? And besides: the blood of the seeker is required. Not of the conjurer. Everyone knows that."

"Fine," Loki acquiesced, dragging out a very long sigh through his nose as he uncrossed his arms and slowly lowered them.

"That's better," she smiled, switching her gaze to her book once more.

Loki reached with his right hand, through the panels of his coat, for the weapon hid in the holster strapped to his hip. He felt the cool touch of metal against his fingers: the hilt of his knife.

He coiled his hand around it, pulled the weapon out of its sheath, and held it up to his eyes. Its sharp, beveled edges flashed orange, reflecting the glow of candlelight.

Then he inched forward, so that his toes touched the black line around the rim of the pool.

He lifted his free hand—his left hand—and uncurled his fingers, opening up his palm.

He set his jaw, as he steadily set the edge of the blade onto the tip of his left index finger, calming his breaths, and clearing his mind.

With a swift, clean slice, he drew his knife down, inhaling a soft hiss through his teeth.

A red line, thin as a thread, appeared instantly on his finger. He felt it throb, even though the initial sting had already begun to fade. By the time he returned his knife to its holster, the red line had thickened, collecting at his fingertip to form a single, crimson drop.

"Perfect," Amora observed from a short distance. "Now carefully, allow for a single drop to enter the pool."

Loki made a nod, keeping an eye on his finger, as he steadily stretched out his bleeding hand over the tranquil waters. He waited patiently for the drop to thicken. It grew, until it finally detached and dripped from his hand...

_Hisss! _

Steam rose. The waters frothed and changed colors, from translucent to a bright, illuminating green that replaced the golden light in the room.

Loki recoiled his bleeding hand, turning it into a fist. He kept pressure on it, as he pulled back from the building fumes.

"That certainly did the trick," Amora reflected proudly, as she waved a hand horizontally, cutting through the steam. When she withdrew, she rubbed her index finger and her thumb together, evidently sampling the magic in the air. Her keen satisfaction showed in the slight lifting in her lips. "And now all that's left for us to do is to chant the spell...in unison."

She lowered her book slightly, and held out an open hand towards Loki.

"Give me your hand."

He glared down at her hand. Then up at her face.

"Why?" he responded flatly.

"Because the incantation won't _work_ if we don't hold hands whilst chanting it," she explained in a rush. "Now quit your fussing, and give me your hand!"

Loki grunted lowly, as he very reluctantly and rigidly placed his hand in hers.

Her skin felt like ice—and that was saying something—as she squeezed his fingers firmly, in a grip that felt tighter than necessary.

Ignoring the way one of his fingers began to sting anew, he faced the pool with her, as she lifted her book nearer to her face, and lifted her chin.

"Together, we'll start at the top of the page, now." She glanced over at him. "Are you ready?"

"Let's get this over with," he mumbled.

"Alright then," she said, rolling her shoulders back. "On the count of three. One. Two. Three!"

They drew breath at the same time, and began the chant in full voice:

"Ånd av underverdenen, jeg innkalle deg!"

_Spirit of the netherworld, I summon thee!_

Their two-toned chant resonated deeply through the green-lit chamber, each consonant echoing crisply and precisely, and each vowel a moan that sent reverberations through Loki's bones. Their words carried a power two-fold—imbued with a strong magic that Loki could feel building in the form of heat on his hands, and in the hand that clasped his.

"Vis deg selv , i tydeligste skjema..."

_Show thyself, in plainest form..._

"Jeg binder deg til denne verden , till din oppgave er utført..."

_I bind thee to this realm, till thy task is performed..._

They continued their chant with increasing volume, and a whirlpool began to form beneath the rising steam. The waters spun faster and faster, and soon the pillar of smoke spun too, forming a funnel that emanated heat upon Loki's skin—as if a towering fire blazed at the whirlpool's center.

"Kom frem! Ut av vannet, ut av flamme!"

_Come forth! Out of water, out of flame!_

A rush of wind blew into the room out of nowhere, causing all the candle lights to flicker.

The air swept against them, whipping loose strands of hair into Loki's eyes. He squinted to refocus on the runes in Amora's book, raising his voice with hers against the gusting of wind.

"_Notte Mara..._jeg binder deg ved navn!"

Notte Mara..._I bind thee by thy name!_

The turbulence flared, hot air pushing them, almost knocking them back. But Loki tightened his grip around Amora's hand, and they stood their ground.

"Ånd of underverdenen, jeg innkalle deg!"

_Spirit of the netherworld, I summon thee!_

Then a blinding light flashed, accompanied by a tearing sound, deafening as a crack of thunder.

The wind fled the room, hitting them with force. This time, it caused them to stumble backward. But they caught themselves, their hands coming apart. The candlelight was snuffed out, plunging the room into darkness.

Nothing made a sound after that, save the two of them breathing hard, as they waited for light to appear.

He was grateful for the fact that they no longer held each other's hand, for now his palms had begun to sweat. They waited.

Then he felt a slight tremor, underneath his boots. A vibration in the floor...

Blinking, Loki noticed the faintest presence of light, a short distance away...

A green orb.

Starting at the base of the pool, it grew in slow ripples, spreading its light through the entire pool, until the pitch-black chamber was dimly illuminated in an eerie, venomous glow.

Vibrations ran through the floor, though nothing else seemed to be happening—

When suddenly, something shifted in the air above the waters, at Loki's eye-level: A ripple in empty space. Like a disturbance. Or like the air above a flickering flame.

The mirage remained fixed in the air, as the tremor began again in the ground, this time rattling up into the walls and the ceiling above.

Loki blinked, seeing now, quite clearly...

A black spot.

It appeared in the bending air above the waters, flat and small as a coin, until it moved and lengthened into three-dimensional space, very slowly expanding towards Loki and Amora in the shape of a cylinder, or a rod. Or like a finger.

Then came a cluster of four other spots—and a dark, round clump, joined to the finger.

Loki's lips parted. He drew in a shaky breath, realizing what he was looking at.

It was a _hand,_ reaching out of some invisible realm, pulling through the liquidy barrier into theirs.

The low-pitched hum increased in Loki's ears, and morphed into a groan. The outstretched hand grew a lanky, black arm, dripping with an ink-black liquid that also evaporated into the air like fine sand.

Shoulders, a head, and torso began to materialize. Gray armor seemed to cover its black torso. And the bottom portion of a long, flowing robe came into view, licking up at the edges in black flames of magic.

Leading with the tip of a slight nose, came forth a face, covered completely by a dark, silvery mask bearing no expression. Two circular holes stood in the place of eyes, with no light shining out of them.

Loki felt a familiar spike in his blood pressure, as a pair of pointed ears appeared on either side of the creature's head, along with strands of white, braided hair that fell over large spikes which grew from its shoulders, forming the abominable silhouette of one of the accursed: a dark she-elf.

Her black, bony arms lowered. The room drew deathly quiet, making Loki very consciously aware of every single breath he inhaled. Without being able to read her expression, he judged from the angle of her head that she was looking straight at him.

Loki drew himself up to his full height, putting on an unreadable expression himself: a close-lipped smile. He also carefully maintained eye-contact as best as he could with the apparition, as she very gradually lifted her right arm in a pointing gesture, the trajectory of her finger aimed directly at Loki's face when it went still.

Then, her voice came in a low, creaky moan that caused a slight quake in the ground.

"Who dared summon me?"

Loki spread his stance. Keeping tight-lipped, he deliberately lifted his chin, still maintaining his steady gaze on the hollowed eyes in her mask.

"It was I," he answered in a steely tone. "Loki, King of Asgard."

The Night Mare did not move, or speak for a very long moment.

Then she turned her head, just an inch to the left. Her pointing hand moved just a hair, now pointing past Loki's left shoulder.

At Amora.

"Then who is _she?_" the Night Mare demanded, her voice rattling up Loki's bones.

"One of my servants," Loki quickly answered, waving his hand. "A witness, to all that transpires here."

"And yet, she aided you in summoning me here, did she not?" the spirit inquired, her tone softer, and colder than before. Loki's jaw muscles tensed.

"Yes," he admitted. "She did."

The Night Mare's pointed finger coiled, followed by her arm, slowly coming down to rest at her side.

"Liars do not bode well in my presence, _Prince_," she warned in a severe tone. "I see through the exterior...into the mind and soul. And it is plain for me to see, that you are no king of this realm. The throne you have taken belongs to another."

Loki's heart missed a beat. His smile faded, as his thoughts turned to the last he saw of his brother...

The back of a crimson cape and a golden head, striding towards the end of a shining hall, and disappearing into the blinding light of the noon-day sun...

But a dull pain suddenly shot through his right hand, running up his veins to his right shoulder—

Reminding him of his black present.

The Night Mare seemed to sense this lapse of control, for she gradually inclined her head to one side, her empty eyes seemingly observing him, but Loki could not tell for sure. And the not-knowing started to unnerve him.

"I_ know_ what ails thee," she said in a crackled whisper. "You needn't utter it for me to know. It's the curse, in thy blood, and its binding power. But what were your hopes in summoning me here?"

Loki inhaled and exhaled, his frame hardening in resolve.

"Your might, and fame precedes you, Mother of Nightmares. It is known throughout the realms, that you are unmatched in your power. Therefore, I have sought you out in order that you might assist me. And by your authority, break my curse's power."

A low, building chuckle echoed throughout the chamber, making Loki shift his weight.

"Foolish child!" the Night Mare cackled. "I have lived and _died_ underneath the weight of my curse. What makes you think you can _ever_ be rid of it?"

Loki gulped against a knot in his throat. Formulating his next response, he narrowed his eyes at the ghost and took a short step forward.

"But curses _can_ been broken, can they not?" he challenged. "Each spell has a reverse—so it is taught, in the fundamentals of magic."

"Yes," the Night Mare conceded, the base of her cloak lifting in a swell of black fire and smoke. "But every curse is uniquely set. Countering them is next to impossible. For even the strongest forms of magic can be twisted by the curse itself, befalling the accursed in the reverse of their intent—a reckoning that lasts, even beyond the grave! For a hex does not die with the body; it ties itself to one's very soul."

Loki's mind swirled, unable to conjure up words for a long moment. Then he drew in breath, and spoke again in a resolute tone:

"But since you have the power to look into souls, are you able, then, to see anything that might be of use to me?"

"I might," she replied, without assurance. "But my sight does not reach into your future...only into your past."

"Then grant me one request," he asked, lowering his voice. "And look within my mind to see the memories I have lost."

She hummed to herself—a deep murmur that filled the air.

"The ones the curse has veiled from thee. And you would grant me free reign in the realm of your dreams, as payment for this favor?"

"My mind is your playground," he smiled, exuding confidence.

The Night Mare lifted her chin, silently seeming to consider his offer.

"I've never been invited in...with such willingness before," she reflected in scratchy tones. "Ever has it been the opposite. Everyone always trying to drive me away." She went silent. And slowly dipped her head, boring her black gaze into him. "You hide many shadows within, Prince Loki. And yet, you do not seem to fear...what I may uncover."

Loki's smirk lifted.

"Do _you_ fear?"

She calmly straightened her neck.

"I am anxious," she replied in a slow rasp. "Anxious to see."

"Then we are agreed?"

"We are."

A ripple started from the center of the pool. Another tremor ran underneath Loki's boots, as smoke began to rise once more in a pillar that climbed up towards the ceiling.

A peal of thunder sounded, as the pool's waters rose in chopped waves, spilling out onto the golden tiles.

Loki and Amora backed up, as the Notte Mara's dark form rose several feet higher into the air, the bottom of her fiery dress elongating. The green mist swirled around her, casting all sorts of looming shadows across the floor.

Her languid arm lifted again, pointing this time towards the large bed which occupied the center of the room.

"Go. Lie down. I shall put thee to sleep," the Night Mare ordered.

Loki began turning with his shoulders, when the ghost's voice came again.

"And she—she must stand at a distance, and not interfere."

Loki met Amora's eyes and nodded.

"Do as she says," he commanded.

Amora narrowed her gaze, but obeyed, striding away to the far side of the room, where she sank into a pillowed bench next to the double doors, and rested her chin on her fist.

No sooner had Loki moved to the bedside, when a strange sort of music began to fill the chamber. It came from the direction of the pool, whispering out from the shifting mists and the tall ghostly shadow within, as she...

Sang.

"Søvn, lille, søvn. Ikke vær redd..."

The song was unfamiliar—yet, hauntingly and strangely beautiful—languishing in minor, crackled tones, in direct contrast to the soothing words...

_Sleep, little one, sleep. Do not be afraid..._

Loki's eyes drifted themselves shut, and he stood still for a moment, arrested by the eerie sound of her voice...

"Drømme, lille, drøm. Tillate meg å spille..."

_Dream, little one, dream. Allow me to play..._

When he forced his eyes to open, the room seemed darker than before.

He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the Night Mare and the pool, noticing that the green glow from the base of the pool had begun to dim. The spirit herself had descended from the air, the wisping edges of her pitch-colored gown hovering just above the golden tiles before the pool. Her arms hung limply at her sides, as she slowly advanced towards the bed at a creeping pace, like she was gliding on air.

Loki blinked heavily, feeling the corners of his vision start to darken.

Swiftly, then, he whipped the fur bed covers from the head of the bed. The feel of the soft furs against his fingers, and the sight of the empty bed suddenly made his chest ache.

But he turned his back on the sight, and sat on the edge of the bed. After swinging his legs over the gold bed frame, he tucked them underneath the covers, and made himself lie down on his back, feeling his head grow dizzy just as it hit the pillows.

"Kommer, lille, kommer. Det vil være over snart..."

_Come, little one, come. It'll be over soon..._

As the voice drew near, and the ceiling above him darkened, he found that he no longer had the strength in his body, even to cover himself with the furs. So he lay, crippled, all his senses overwhelmed by the floating melody that whispered so closely now—singing right in his ear.

"Drøm videre, lille..."

_Dream on, little one... _

His eyes drifted shut, unable to fight the sleep any longer.

"Du er min, til morgen lette morgener!"

_You are mine,'til morning light dawns!_

Then a heavy weight suddenly slammed down upon his chest—like a hand, crushing against his ribs.

He jolted, and struggled in vain, as another hand wrapped around his neck, in a chokehold.

His hands flew up, in a desperate attempt to lay hold of the shadow that held him down. He clenched his teeth, clawing at the shadow in vain—all in vain—as his last ounce of strength withered away.

His hands went limp, landing on the furs, as he exhaled his remaining breath.

Darkness swallowing his sight and his mind, he felt the pressure against his chest lift, at the very last possible moment...

Just before he lost consciousness.

VVV

The fog of Loki's mind eventually began to clear.

Slowly, it parted away, his sight returning to him, unfocused at first.

He felt a rush of air, as breath returned to his lungs. But the air he breathed was cold. It shivered him down to his boots, as he felt the ground beneath them solidify.

Blinking his misted eyes, he beheld a wide expanse: an empty courtyard cobbled with dark gray stones, and surrounded by a maze of verdant bushes. The wall of green expanded into a thick fog, which clouded the air, veiling the sun and his distant surroundings.

He drew his eye to the bushes in the courtyard within, beholding a wide array of brightly-colored flowers; all of which appeared to be healthy, and in full bloom.

Which was strange, Loki noted, as he became aware of the snowflakes that lightly descended across the dull, gray sky. He lifted his gaze to the clouds, where he could just barely make out the tip of Asgard's spires through the fog.

It was rare indeed, that there should be an absence of stars in Asgard's sky.

Another disconcerting thing about his surroundings, was the absence of sound. There was no wind that blew, no chirping of birds, nor rushing of waterfalls, nor whirring of ships overhead. Nothing, besides the sound of his own breath.

He turned in place, glancing about the royal gardens, in the absolute stillness of the falling snow.

A thought entered his mind. That he was completely alone in this realm. The only living soul left on Asgard. And the silence only seemed to confirm the revelation. As he breathed in the cold, his mind drew a blank, an emptiness filling him deep within.

But upon exhale, he straightened. He narrowed his gaze on the path that led up towards a flight of steps, that drew his eye towards the palace. A new-found strength filled his bones, as he imagined the empty halls, without guard or anyone to hide from.

He began walking in that direction, then, with a lightness in his step, energized with the realization that he had freedom. He could go wherever he pleased, in his own skin.

Blinking his eyes against the snow, he bent his head slightly, lowering his gaze to the ground.

Then he saw something in the middle of the path that made him stop mid-stride. He frowned at first at the thing that blocked the path, and grew up from a crack in the stones, before his feet.

But then his features softened, as soon as he identified it more specifically.

It was no ordinary purple flower. It was a daylily.

An arrested breath left him, as he stood transfixed at the sight of its natural beauty—its bright yellow center, and its light purple hues striped on its delicate petals, that were pleated at the edges.

He could not take his eyes from it, compelled to draw closer to it.

Crouching down to one knee, he surveyed every detail up—close, wondering at its perfection—not a single defect on its petals.

His right hand reached out with an inexplicable, aching need to touch it.

On his way to take hold of the stem, his thumb just barely brushed against one of the petals. And immediately, an inky black spot swallowed the flower—turning it from purple to _black_, before his very eyes.

Loki withdrew his hand, as if he had just touched fire.

He shot up to his feet, backing away, watching as the ashen petals began to curl, the entire plant withering and dying.

Then a cold, gust of ice blew against Loki's right cheek. And the darkened flower shriveled completely, before it disintegrated into the air like ashes, carried away by the wind.

The moment a tremor ran through Loki's body, the earth groaned deeply.

Loki's gaze shot to his feet. The rocks beneath him were shifting. He tilted off-balance—

His hands shot up—and he caught himself.

But his eyes swept the ground, glancing towards the crack in the pavement, where the withered flower had grown. His eyes widened, as he beheld the darkness spreading. It crept in all directions, turning stones, grass, bushes and flowers into ash.

The ground quaked again without warning, causing Loki to reel, and this time fall to his knees.

His palms hit the paved stone that were rough as sandpaper. He grimaced and pushed himself back up, springing again to his feet, for the path before him was starting to deteriorate. He quickly scanned the garden for another exit, but couldn't see far enough through the thick fog, and there just wasn't enough time. He focused on the path before him, and the black hole expanding before his feet—now five meters wide.

He inhaled three rapid, preparatory breaths. He backed up, bending his knees. Then he sprinted. His feet came up to the edge of the hole in the ground, and that's when he leaped up, flying forward with full force—

His feet landed, barely making it over the crumbling edge, as he continued his momentum and ran forward.

Stealing a quick glance over his shoulder, he witnessed a gigantic crack forming in the ground, coming up behind his feet. He shot his gaze ahead once more and pushed himself to run even faster, not daring another glance behind, even as a tear seemed to rip the earth in two, at his heels.

Panting, he came up to a short flight of steps, which he climbed two at a time. As he approached the palace, the lower portions of the walls began to materialize, clarifying through the mist. And his eyes fixed upon an opening in a series of arches, directly ahead. A side entrance.

His heart rate increased, as he flew up the last flight of steps, practically stumbling into the colonnaded hall of the palace.

He glanced to the stretching hall to his left. At the end of it, stood the colossal statues of the royal family, of which, only the two boys remained.

Loki whirled back around, facing the outdoors, panting hard.

Every sound had somehow ceased. And through the fog, he saw nothing as he gazed out towards the gardens. He didn't know if the shadow had stopped, or was continuing soundlessly...

But for a long moment, he just stood there, catching his breath.

When a sound finally came, it was not the sort of sound he was expecting.

It came from a distance, and groaned faintly. And it came and went, with the shifting of wind, whispering first in one ear, and then in the other.

He distinguished that it as a human voice, moaning softly, without words. And yet without words, Loki somehow _knew,_ with absolute conviction, what the feeble voice was trying to say...

It was in pain.

Loki felt himself yanked by his heart, as if a an invisible link connected him to that voice.

He stepped in a circle, twisting around, in an effort to distinguish where the moan came from.

It did not come again.

But somewhere, deep in his heart, he knew...

They needed him. And he had to find them. No matter what the cost—

Suddenly, a blaring sound made him jump.

It was the alarm bell.

It sounded from some corridor in the distance. He whirled around, his heart slamming into his ribcage, as another sound echoed down the hall, in that direction: footsteps, and the clattering of armor.

Loki spun in the opposite direction, searching for the nearest exit.

He fixed his eyes on an opening in the colonnade to his right, getting ready to sprint in that direction. But something yanked at his wrists, preventing him from pulling them apart. He glanced down at his hands, and went still.

Shackles.

Somehow, he now wore shackles.

"Really?" Loki muttered under his breath, before glancing again in the direction of the sound of bootsteps, drawing closer and closer from around the bending hall.

He had no time to argue against the logic. With a shake of his head, he clenched his hands into fists, and bolted towards the open archway.

Running felt awkward. His chains clanked noisily, and he couldn't swing his arms apart, or use them to balance himself. And they were heavy.

Behind him, he heard indistinct hollers, as one of the guards barked an order.

Loki threw himself forward, bounding up a short flight of steps between two towering columns, hoping nobody had spotted him or heard the sound of his shackles over the alarm—

His toe hit against the edge of one of the steps.

His hands flew out, unable to steady his balance, only ready to stop him from falling flat on his face.

The heels of his palms hit against something hard—a stone column, which stopped him from falling.

He steadied himself before pushing himself off of it, ready to sprint again into the adjoining hall, but the area where his hand had made contact with the stone began to blacken, leaving a dark handprint on the marbly-white surface of the column.

Loki stumbled back, as the darkness spread its fingers, climbing up the length of the column, swiftly turning the whole thing black. Loki lifted his gaze to the ceiling and watched helplessly as the darkness flooded it, going down several more columns, eating up the woven engravings, destroying centuries worth of history in an eye-blink.

The clamor of armor and shouting of voices returned. Loki glanced through a gap in the columns towards the group of Einherjar that entered the long hallway, with their spears drawn and their shields raised. They couldn't see Loki, with the pillars blocking him from view. But they stopped in their tracks as they witnessed the decaying walls, before a loud noise alerted them to a large crack tearing across the ceiling.

Stones rumbled, as an earthquake overtook the entire hall. The Einherjar fell back, shouting orders, escaping the shadow that spread across the hall, heading their way.

The ceiling trembled, growing smaller cracks and raining pebbles, on the verge of caving. Loki prepared himself to run, watching as the darkness spread from the ceiling, down the back wall behind the remaining statues of the Odinsons, creeping up through their legs, overtaking them completely.

A crack ran down the center of them, right where the two touched shoulders, tearing them apart. Loki's throat tightened, as the statue of the eldest son crumpled, turning to a pile of darkened ash at the feet of the other, who remained standing

_Crrrrrrack!_

Ash rained from the ceiling, as stones crumbled and fell.

Loki turned, and bolted away from the debris. He coughed as dust poured into the hall, now not giving a care how his shackles clamored as he ran, twisting around a shorter hall, before starting down another hall lined with pillars, flooded in gray daylight.

The alarm continued to blare. He became aware of bootsteps that followed. He quickly glanced behind, seeing General Tyr and his men rushing at him from behind.

"There he is!" the general shouted, pointing his metal arm as he charged with his spear.

Loki spun his gaze forward, heart thudding, thrusting himself forward even faster.

He ducked underneath one of the arches, flying into a hall that ended in a balcony that overlooked the city. The sound of crumbling earth followed him as he ran, coming closer and closer, and when he shot a glance behind, it had eaten up the walls, and archways behind him. The Einherjar were now nowhere in sight. The darkness spread like wildfire, decaying the floors in every direction.

Breathing hard, he pushed himself with all his might to outrun it. But it gained on him. Cracks ran through the ground, going between his legs. He gasped, as the stones at his heels began to give way.

He stumbled forward, barely able to maintain even footing on shifting plates, turning dark...

His eyes widened, as he felt the earth give way, turning to sand beneath his feet. He fell through the earth, and reached out—but there was nothing to grasp or cling onto to stop him from the drop into the dark abyss below.

The free-fall filled him with a familiar, sickening dread that made his head spin and his insides flip.

He screamed. But no one would hear—not above the crackling of stones as they fell with him, into the darkness that swallowed him whole.

He did not give himself to it this time. This time, he shut his eyes in a grimace, and curled in on himself, awaiting impact—

He first crashed through a layer of earth—

Before landing right onto his back.

He couldn't draw in breath for several seconds, the wind knocked out of him. Finally, a gasp tore through his throat, pain filling his lungs. He kept his eyes screwed shut as he calmed his breaths, his chained hands folded tight against his breastplate.

When he could breathe at last, he opened his eyes and saw light.

A singular shaft of light shining down from above.

He blinked his eyes and squinted, until they could fully adjust to the dark. The light, he perceived, stood at the end of a seemingly-endless tunnel in the ceiling. The light was so far, he could never climb up to it. No use attempting it.

Loki clamped his mouth shut and swallowed.

The air felt cool and dank. It smelled of soil, and water that had gone _bad._

Loki started to move to get up, but even the slightest of movements made pain shoot up his entire back. He breathed a shallow breath, rolling carefully onto his side, deciding to stay there with his eyes shut for a while, until he had gathered a bit more strength.

He became aware of a light dripping noise as he lay there. It was likely the sound of water leaking from the ceiling.

The irritating sound compelled him to try again. Letting out a low grunt, he pushed himself up onto his elbow without using his hands. He didn't want to touch anything with them, now.

His back continued to ache. But he could manage. He pushed up again, his chains jingling and his leather coat scraping the rocky rubble that surrounded him, as he sat up on his knees.

He swept the room with his gaze, finding himself in the center of a low-ceilinged, square room the size of a small bedchamber. The only sources of light came from torches, set in the walls by sconces. Through the dim shadows, he made out crudely cobbled-stone on dirt walls. Roots, as thick as tree limbs, clung to the walls, growing from the earthen ceiling, tangling with each other and creating a mangled, impenetrable wall over the stones they covered.

Stranger than the mere presence of the roots were their color. They were _red_, reminding Loki very strongly of red, blood-filled veins.

Following the twisting roots down, Loki's gaze fell next upon the objects that lay in heaps, covering the floor, in all four corners of the room: trunks, made of dark wood.

The chests came in every shape and size, both large and small. Now the room reminded him of one of the sealed-up tombs in the caves of Niflheim, stacked with hundreds of artifacts and sepulchers. Some of the boxes were even the size of sarcophagi. But they were all shut up, so all of their contents remained a mystery.

The light shining down from above shone on one of the larger chests just a few feet away from where he sat, bringing it to his attention. Loki crawled forward, without using his hands, noting how the latches that would open the box did not have locks.

Shifting his weight forward on his knees, he reached out with his hand. His chains clanked—as a reminder—and he suddenly withdrew, sagging his shoulders. He landed his hands into his lap and sighed, twisting his jaw to one side.

He sat there for a long moment, staring at the box.

Then, an idea came to him.

He perked up, gripped his knees with his hands, and leaned forward. He cleared his throat, and whispered to the box:

"Opna, fyrir mig."

And with a click, the latches flipped up.

Loki smirked lightly to himself, as the lid silently opened for him. A golden gleam caught his eye, shining from inside the chest. He opened his mouth in a silent gasp when he beheld what lay inside.

The Chitauri scepter. The one that had been fashioned for him. _His_ golden scepter. The one he had lost on Midgard...

Why was it here?

His fingers tingled, as his eyes ran up and down the sleek gold, drawn to the sapphire jewel that glowed between the sharp, silver blades. It even seemed to call out to him, as it used to do...

_Reclaim me, _it whispered. _Take what is yours._

His hands hovered over the box, with his fingers outstretched, itching for the soft touch of gold—aching to feel that raw power, once again.

His hands began reaching into the chest. But his gaze flickered away from the gem, noticing the crimson stain that covered the tips of the two sharpened blades on either side of it—

Fresh blood.

A voice screamed through Loki's head.

_NOOO!_

Loki jolted back, as if lightning had just electrocuted his fingertips. His breathing came hard, and he remembered all at once—

The face of a mortal. Ordinary, but noble.

The one he had slain on Midgard.

The man who had stood in Loki's way, who threatened him with a blaster, meaning to pull the trigger. The man who Thor considered as a friend. The mortal who showed no trace of fear in the face of death, after Loki stabbed him through the back. The man he slew without mercy.

The sight of fresh blood on the blades brought it all back. But most of all, it brought back the pure anguish he could still hear in his brother's voice as Loki did the deed.

_Noooo..._

It made Loki's stomach clench, wanting nothing more in that moment than to wash the blades clean, polish them anew—or to simply slam the cabinet shut and bury it in the ground, never to open it again.

His chains jangled as he rose to one knee, ignoring the pain in his lower back as he gradually stood to his feet.

When he lifted his eyes, he didn't expect to find all the other wooden chests hanging wide open.

They must've been opened all at once, when he had uttered his spell. Strange that he hadn't noticed.

There were so many things that shone from these boxes. Too many things to count. And most of them, he could hardly make out or identify through the shadows.

Loki stopped in front of one of the smaller chests, closer to him. It contained a silver device—not of Asgard. It had a cylinder handle; and on the other end, it had four extensions that ended in disks with blades that spun.

His brow twisted. He knew this device. Barton had bequeathed it to him, for a very specific task, for which the device was designed for: to scan a human eye, while maiming it.

Once more, screams echoed through his head.

He saw the hundreds of faces as they cowered and ran away from him in a scattering panic.

What had once pumped his blood with exhilaration, now made him sick to his stomach.

He backed away from the device, shaking his head slowly—

_Clink._

Something crunched underneath his right boot.

He looked down, and removed his foot.

A small, silver dagger the size of his palm gleamed up at him from the dirt.

He stared at it, recognizing the knife at once—one of many shanks he had forged centuries ago. They were easy to conceal, and meant to be used only in very intimate combat with one's enemy.

Loki's eyes fell on the tip of the sharp blade—it was tipped in crimson, just like the scepter.

His vision blurred, replaying the way he had stabbed Thor, with the self-same knife.

"_Sentiment," _he had whispered.

And just as it had in that moment, a tear threatened to trickle down his eye as he backed up, feeling dizzy and sick.

Pivoting in place, he searched the shadows now, for the way out. He became aware of a low hum that came from somewhere behind him. He turned in a full circle, facing the opposite side of the room.

And there, against the wall, stood a glowing object, on a stone pedestal: a translucent box emanating blue light, with deep magic swirling within.

The Casket of Ancient Winters.

Its threads of wintry magic reached, shivering him to his core. There, in a place deep within, he felt a reservoir of ice begin to chill him from within.

He consciously fought the feeling, pushing down with his magic to keep that lump of ice from growing. He would _not_ give into it.

As he wrestled inwardly, he found himself moving forward, _towards _the casket, unable to pull away from its magic.

But as he approached the stand, he glanced down to the floors, and slowed.

The two pools that lay on either side of the pedestal were frozen solid. Hands protruded from the ice—lifeless, frost giant arms—with their blue bodies encased inside the ice.

But among the blue-skinned hands, there were also a few smaller, paler ones bearing bracers on their wrists, particular to that of the Einherjar.

Loki's mind flashed, to the sight of the fallen Einherjar in the vault—how several guards had perished, because of him, when he had let the frost giants into Asgard.

His pulse quickened, the sickness in his stomach increasing. But he made himself look away, drawing his gaze up to the wall behind the casket.

No roots overran this wall. It appeared to have been made of one solid, smooth block. It had a high-relief sculptural mural carved into it, painted in colors that had since faded because of centuries of wear. Large chunks of the stone had cracked and fallen away, making the scene hard to identify. But the style of the border marking the edge of the wall spoke of a specific period in Asgard's art: the century directly following the end of the Jotun War, when Loki was but a child.

Loki stepped forward, and squinted through the dark at the colossal figure in the center of the mural. The torchlight eventually revealed that the figure's eyes were painted blood-shot red. Their gaze filled Loki's vision, seemingly staring straight back at him.

Then it hit him.

He knew this mural. He knew it very well. How many times had he passed it, on his way to the armory? It belonged in the halls of recorded history. How many times had he stopped before this very panel, and simply stare at the terrifying depiction of the Frost Giant king?

When he was quite small, this picture terrified him.

And even after he grew, it continued to instill a different kind of discomfort—he grew to hate the image.

So many stories of battle had Loki heard, in the shadow of this wall. So many times had he been told to hurry along, and forget that cold, red stare of those eyes that followed you no matter where you stood in the hall.

At the mention of Laufey's infamous name, this image always came to mind first. Until the day he met the giant face-to-face, this was how he had ever imagined him.

And the dark, jagged scenery had ever depicted what kind of a monster Laufey was. He held an ice dagger in his left hand and stood at the edge of a snowy cliff, over a gathering horde of giants with their ice clubs raised, all with blood-lust in their eyes. A stalagmite throne stood behind Laufey's legs. He had his chin lowered and smiled crookedly with his angular, wolf-like features. He looked like a predator staring at its prey before the kill.

Loki shifted uncomfortably in that stare, feeling the cold pulse of the casket's magic once more, when a sound came.

A faint, distant cry.

He had almost forgotten! The voice in agony. Now distinctly female in Loki's ear. And this time, it came whispering from a definite direction: from the other side of the mural wall, beyond. Somewhere...

He had to get to that voice, even if it meant knocking down the wall.

Loki's manacles jingled, as he rounded the casket stand. He lifted his gaze, now standing directly before the relief sculpture of Laufey. There were no doors in this earthen room. Perhaps this was it. If he could just find a crack, or a...

Then, he heard the sound of two stones rubbing together. He looked up...

And saw Laufey's eyes, alit, glowing red.

Then they blinked. The black pupils moved, scanning to one side.

Then they glanced down, and found Loki.

Loki staggered back, his mouth going agape.

Laufey blinked, his stony blue-painted brow making a frown. Then he spoke at last, in a low, drawn-out groan:

"The bastard son."

Loki's frame clenched still. He stared back defiantly at those cold, red eyes, making no reply, as the taller one's stone features somehow moved again, lifting into a sneer.

"Only in death, was I informed, of the true identity of my murderer," he whispered through sharp, blackened teeth. "Do you not feel shame? For killing the one who gave you life?"

"Do_ I_ feel shame?" Loki choked out a harsh laugh. "It was _you,_ who ought to be ashamed, for leaving me to die!"

Laufey breathed, spreading a chill through the air.

"With your mother dead, and the kingdom in ruins, what was I to do with a pathetic little runt, who'd only bring me further disgrace?"

Loki ground his teeth.

"You're a heartless monster. And I hate you."

Laufey's grin faded. Then he gradually lifted his chin, staring coldly down at Loki.

"Odin taught you to hate me," he whispered in bass-tones. "My own son, turned against me—"

"No," Loki shot back. "You only have yourself to blame. You, and your monstrous deeds—therein lies the cause of my hatred."

"And yet..." Laufey gazed down at him icily. "You cannot despise me completely, when you clearly desire to follow in my footsteps."

Loki scowled at Laufey, shaking his head.

"I'll _never_ be like you," he hissed.

"No?" Laufey scoffed. "Look around you, boy! Do the relics in this chamber speak of an Odinson? Or a _Laufeyson?_"

"Enough!" Loki raised his voice, his heart pounding as he clenched his chained hands. "Laufey is dead. You're not him. You're not real. Therefore, leave."

"Leave?" Laufey sounded genuinely surprised. "I cannot leave. So long as you keep me here."

Loki's heartbeat thumped in his ears now. It increased, and increased, unbearably.

The pulsation throbbed through his skull, making him stagger sideways. He lifted his arms, to cover his ears—but he couldn't. Not with his chains.

"Why would I...?" Loki shouted above the noise splitting his head. "Why would I be...keeping you...here? I don't even know...where this place is!"

Laufey's red eyes flickered towards the walls, as his only answer. Loki's eyes followed his glance.

The walls—

They were pulsating. The thick, red roots were expanding and constricting like veins—throbbing in a rhythm that matched his pounding heart.

Loki's chest tightened painfully, as he watched thick, red liquid ooze out from the tips of the roots, and creep down the walls.

The walls were bleeding.

Loki shot a glance towards Laufey, hardly able to breathe anymore. The frost giant stared down at him, and spoke again, in a cold whisper that somehow penetrated the deafening sound that resembled war drums:

"You know what this place is, as well as I."

Loki's heart thundered, as did the walls. Blood seeped all around, closing in around his vision, which turned red.

He screamed.

Then he charged at the wall, thrusting his hands forward.

His fists landed on the stone painfully, but it started a rumble in the wall. Black fingers shot from the spot where his skin had made contact. And, just as he had hoped, the shadow crept up the wall, towards the carven figure of Laufey. Loki shot a glance up at the giant's widening red eyes, just before the shadow overtook him, and turned him completely black.

Loki drew back, just as another shockwave ran through the stone. And then it shattered into tiny bits, crumbling into a pile of sand, spreading dust.

Loki coughed into his arm, as the air drew silent, the shadow's arm no longer spreading.

Lowering his chained hands, Loki gazed down a clear, tunneling cave stretching before him into the dark unknown. For all Loki knew, a ferocious beast could be lurking there, awaiting him at the end of the passage.

But that is also where the desperate voice had called out from. So he took a step forward, into the shadows.

Few torches affixed to the cave walls by sconces lit up the way, always just before his toes. The rounded cave walls shimmered with moisture, and each of his steps made a pebbly echo all around.

Loki quickened his stride, and lifted his eyes from his feet, growing more accustomed to the shadows. As he proceeded, an indenture caught his attention—on the wall, to his left. It caught his attention, and he slowed as he approached it.

It was a message, made up of four runic figures, crudely cut into the stone. He paused before it.

Letter by letter, he began to decipher it. Before long, he made out a single word:

F-E-A-R.

FEAR.

By itself, the word carried a meaning, colored with everything Loki associated with that one syllable...

Things that crept in the dark. Things that caused him pain. Things that may've died, but would never go away...

FEAR.

The letters grew and grew in Loki's mind, the longer he stared at it. He could've sworn they even turned a shimmery red.

Inhaling swiftly, he ripped away from the sight. He proceeded deeper into the shadows, without giving a glance behind.

After a long minute, he began to feel the steady incline of the ground. Instead of rising up, he was plunging down, deeper into the earth.

This only made him quicken his pace. The cave was also getting narrower and narrower, making the cavern feel more and more airless.

Then an echo touched his ear. It came from a distance—from somewhere deep in the cavern.

Loki only slowed for a moment, to listen, to the deep groan that echoed through the cave. The voice in pain.

Loki focused at the darkness before him, perceiving that the voice sounded weaker than before. It began to fade, and seconds passed where he heard nothing but a leak of cave water and the sound of his own breathing.

He hoped he wasn't hearing things—which would mean that he was even madder than he thought.

Then it came, again. Unmistakably a voice.

This time, though, it came in a loud yelp. Followed by a series of sharp gasps. Then it cried out, uttering a single word in breathless agony:

"Loki!"

He gasped, his heart leaping up and striking against his ribs.

She called out to him, by name.

Again it came. This time, it whimpered softly:

"Loki, help me..."

Tears sprung to Loki's eyes.

"Mother...?" he breathed, all a-quiver. He stepped forward, speaking louder. "Mother?"

"Loki!...Loki!..." it echoed down the hall.

Loki moved toward the sound.

"I'm coming, Mother!" he called, breaking into a run, straight into the shadows, no longer watching his feet. "I'm coming! Please...just hang on!"

Her moaning came and went in echo, filling his mind with even greater darkness than the road that lay before him.

"Hnnnng!" he growled through his teeth as he charged faster, ready to smash anything that would stand in his way. Each groan that came was torture. He had to get to her, quick, before—

His foot fell into an indenture in the ground. He tripped forward, throwing out his hands—

His elbow hit the ground first, his chains clattering as his world spun out of control. He rolled down a steep incline, deeper into darkness. He clenched his body as he tumbled down. Further down.

Face-down, he landed in dirt, littered with shards of rock.

He grimaced, the pain in his lower back having returned. But he pushed up with his chained hands, forcing himself to get up. He tipped, opening and closing his eyes in the pitch black as he rose, trying to assess where he was.

Apparently, things just got worse.

Even with his eyes opened, he scanned, and couldn't see a thing in this lightless pit. Normally, he'd snap his fingers, and spark a fire. Or use echolocation using his tendrils. But with his hands chained, he couldn't even do that. He'd have to feel his way out, with his bare hands.

Mother's voice no longer reached down to him. Perhaps he had fallen too far. Or perhaps he was too late in reaching her.

He denied that thought to grow, focusing all his effort into sharpening his senses to his surroundings.

Very shortly, a strange noise echoed all around: a low, shaky growl that reverberated deeply in every direction. That meant the cavern was vast. It also meant that he wasn't alone in the cavern. The slow, deep breaths of a giant beast came from a short distance, over his shoulder.

Loki had gone still, holding his breath, so the beast wouldn't detect him. But the air at his back pushed and pulled against him, hot and humid.

Loki started to turn his neck over his left shoulder, ever so slowly. A gust of moist air hit his left cheek.

Loki stepped in a circle without making a sound. His eyes widened, as he gazed at a giant row of sharpened blades through the dark. They shimmered, glazed with a mucousy liquid.

Teeth.

They parted slightly, and Loki was hit with another blast of hot, wet air. This time, Loki inhaled the stench of sulfuric well-water.

It was a Leviathan.

Loki flinched back, breathing through open mouth. His chains made a clank.

A rattled snort filled the cavern, with another hot breath.

Loki dared not move. He was unarmed and devoid of magic. He couldn't slay the beast. He'd just have to get away from it unscathed, as he had done in the past.

Somewhere else in the black pit came the crumbling of earth, as a great mass slithered in a wide perimeter about the cave. The tail swept behind Loki, and he couldn't suppress a shudder that made his chains jingle.

All his muscles tight, he slowly made a single step backward, staring at the row of teeth. As he pulled back, he became aware of a shimmering sphere in the dark, parallel to the jaws. It blinked. There was another one, on the other side of the leviathan's massive head. The eyes blinked again. Loki went still again, unsure if the Leviathan had seen him...

The ground rocked, the massive teeth parting. Strands of red saliva pulled as the monster reared its head. Loki stumbled backward.

_ SNAP!_

The jaws closed inches away from Loki's face, sprayed with foul-smelling spit.

Releasing a sharp breath, Loki tore around, and broke into a sprint.

The leviathan roared from behind, and Loki felt a blast of hot air on his back as he ran blindly.

Then he caught the flicker of orange light. At a short distance, a torch burned, lighting up an opening to a tunnel. He swore he hadn't seen the light, just a moment ago.

In a heart pound, Frigga's called out to him, from the tunnel:

"Loki!"

Loki swerved straight towards the torchlight, speeding, even as the earth quaked.

A shadow encircled him, at the edges of his vision...

The sound of metal scraping against stone rushed at him from behind, breaking apart the stones at his heels—

_SNAP!_

One of his coattails snagged, caught by razor-sharp teeth that threatened to swallow him up. He yanked against it with all his weight, lunging forward. It ripped, as he bounded into the torchlight.

He ducked his head, and ran straight into the tunnel.

_CRASH!_

Chunks of rock flew as the Leviathan crushed its way into the passage, tearing through the walls. Loki stole a glance behind, vision filled with the sight of an abysmal throat.

_Shriiiiieeek!_

Loki shot his gaze ahead. The lit path now slanted steadily upward. Panting hard, he forced himself to run just as fast up the hill, even as his leg muscles began to burn.

Plates of rock started to rain from the ceiling. Loki swiftly dodged a boulder the size of his own as he ran. It narrowly missed him, crashing just behind him. More rubble poured down, as the ground got swallowed up from behind.

Lifting his gaze, he glimpsed the end of the tunnel.

Golden doubledoors, embossed with the branches of Yggdrasil.

The palace.

And on the other side of the doors, shouted—

"Loki!"

Mother!

Loki's heart hammered. He shot a glance behind.

The walls crumbled, all around, the tunnel collapsing. The leviathan snapped at his heels.

His vision returned and narrowed on the doubledoors, as he forced his tired legs to press on, and run as fast as he possibly could.

The leviathan shrieked.

_SNAP!_

He felt the heat of the monster's breath just inches from his back that time.

The cavern floor crumbled in chunks all around, and Loki barely found a place for his feet to land before he bent his knees—and jumped.

He flew forward, as the ground opened up into an endless pit. He reached out with fettered hands, and reached towards the golden light—

He stumbled to a land, at the lip of the chasm. At the golden doors he ground himself to a halt, spinning around to glance behind.

He caught only the tail of the Leviathan, as it fell straight down into the pit, letting out a great shriek that shattered the air and eventually faded into echo with the last of the crumbling stones.

Loki sighed shakily.

He faced the double doors, still panting.

They did not open. He glanced briefly down at his chains. Then lifted his eyes to the gates once more.

"Let me enter," he commanded, between short breaths.

The doors rumbled in obedience. He drew back half a step as they opened.

He stepped through into blinding sunlight that made him squint—a great contrast to the shadows behind him.

He did not wait for his eyes to adjust, stepping into the golden hall lined with towering stone pillars. His unfocused eyes followed, to the end of the line of columns. And there, at the end of grand hall, stood the throne. Half of its gold lay in ruins, eaten up by an explosion.

Loki slowed. His manacles clanked, but other than that...

Not a sound.

He scanned the columns and the outer wings, looking for movement.

As his boots came up to the three-in-one emblem that marked the center of the floor before the throne, he heard a faint sound...

A profound exhale—like someone who had just breathed their last.

Loki turned left, following the sound. He stepped towards the columns to his left.

His gaze rounded a column, and he caught a glimpse of a crumpled form, lying next to the base of one of the other pillars.

Loki stopped, barely breathing.

Turquoise silks draped the person. A sun's ray reflected off a bronze shoulder piece, over a limp arm which lay strewn with its hand curled, hiding the person's face from view. But he knew.

He knew at the sight of her bright, honey-colored hair, lying in waves on the ground.

"No," he gasped.

His legs felt weak, but he lurched forward—straight towards her.

Barely seeing straight, he slowed when he approached her side, his heart aching unbearably in his chest.

A watery breath escaped him, and his chains rattled, as he shuffled a step closer.

Her face lay tilted at an angle towards him. Her eyes and mouth were closed. A streak of red blood stained her cheek, at the corner of her lips—lips that would never smile with the warmth of sunlight again.

"No," he choked softly, his knees buckling.

His throat closed as he crashed onto his knees, feeling his heart shatter inside his chest, falling in pieces with him.

Hot tears flooded his eyes, as a sob climbed in his throat, strangling him. His face clenched, as it stopped in his throat. He bent forward, reaching out with his quivering, bound hands—hovering them over her motionless body, the silks of her dress, and her still hands...

But a jolting pain shot straight through the back of his right hand, from the mark.

He recoiled quickly, and shut his eyes, allowing tears to spill down his cheeks...

Then an icy breath whispered against the back of his neck.

He straightened on his knees, a shiver running through his back.

The very room seemed to descend in temperature—the air itself growing thicker, with a dark, oppressive heaviness.

When Loki inhaled, the smell of sulfur filled his nostrils.

Loki's skin crawled.

Then his kneels felt a tremor course deep in the floor.

The sun-drenched hall darkened, swallowing up the golden rays, swiftly plunging the hall into nighttime.

Then came deep, cavernous voice from across the hall.

"Be glad she was _spared_," it spoke chillingly. "She could have suffered far worse—a slow, and painful death, at _your _hands."

A lump rose in Loki's throat.

In an eye-blink, a thick black cloud suddenly enveloped the body of Frigga. Loki jerked back. And she vanished—swept away with the cloud in a rush of dust. He was left staring blankly at the empty floors.

And when he glanced at his hands this time, chains no longer bound him. They were gone. He twisted his wrists before his eyes in disbelief.

A low, cavernous chuckle rolled through the throne room, simmering the blood in Loki's veins. He curled his hands, lowering them in white-knuckled fists.

Glancing across the great hall, he saw _him._

He stood in the shadow of two columns—a great shadow himself. His two blue eyes burned, his gaze shooting straight through Loki's chest.

Loki blinked away the mist that remained, returning that intense gaze with a rage that pounded through his veins, rising steadily to his feet and lengthening his posture to face the titan.

"It was wise of you to keep the truth from her..." Thanos continued, remaining in the shadows. "Else she would've been the first advocate for your execution. She'd recognize the truth. That _death_ is what you deserve in the end."

"I wondered when you would show yourself," Loki replied, feigning coolness. "This whole game of hide-and-seek has gotten to be quite tedious."

"Tedious for _you,_ perhaps," Thanos smiled, revealing a white row of teeth beneath his blazing gaze. "But I am a patient being. My game is just beginning."

Loki shook his head and emitted a breathy laugh.

"And you think I am one of your pawns, still?"

"You are my centre pawn!" Thanos revealed, his white teeth flashing through the shadows. "I couldn't have secured the throne of Asgard, without you. You've ever been my herald—my favorite slave, dear boy."

Loki's smirk quivered flat.

"I am your puppet, no longer. You'll sooner see me dead, than kneeling before you again."

"Gladly. But you seem to forget..." Thanos murmured, advancing on feet of mist, his form still veiled in darkness. His black silhouette rested a few yards into the golden hall, where he eased his chin down and bore his cerulean gaze into Loki. "You still owe me. You belong to your master."

"No," Loki denied with conviction, stepping into the hall to meet the titan face to face. "I'm not a pawn in someone's game. I shall defeat you—whatever it takes. I _shall _find the crack in your armor. You want to test me? Then, beware. In the end, it'll be your 'centre pawn' who'll bring about your downfall."

A dead silence fell between them, as Thanos sized Loki up.

Then the titan emitted a low hum, felt in the ground beneath Loki's boots.

"Your determination amuses me," Thanos admitted. "But how can you hope to exploit the crack in my armor, when I know every single one of yours? They lie open to me, like festering wounds. And you guessed right: I_ shall_ test you, until your back on your knees..."

Then Thanos lifted the giant shadow of a hand.

"You've been burning with a question," Thanos hummed deeply. "Well. I shall answer it for you."

He twisted his giant wrist.

With his magic, Loki felt the strong presence of someone else in the hall. He shifted his gaze to the throne at the top of the steps, whence came a faint padding of footsteps. Soon, Loki saw the figure of a stout man, rounding the corner of the throne.

The man walked at a crawling pace, as if weighed down by all the nine realms. A maroon-red cape hung from his shoulders. He had silvery white hair, and wore a golden eyepatch on his right eye.

Odin.

His seeing eye did not leave the floor.

Loki's already-weakened heart hammered against his ribs, as he saw Thanos lift his arm, and wave his hand once more.

Blazing heat shot through the runemark in Loki's hand.

He gasped and pressed his eyes shut. Gripping his right hand with his left, he bent forward, knees buckling from the searing pain.

The pain had just begun to subside, when another wave of pain came, shocking his entire body.

Then, as if pulled up by a string connected to the top of his head, he lengthened, going ramrod straight. And before he could move again, he froze in that position.

When he tried to move again, he couldn't. He was paralyzed. He tried to lift his arm—it wouldn't budge. He grit his teeth and tried to turn his head, move his feet, twist his hands, or stretch out his fingers—nothing obeyed. He could only move the muscles in his face, and glance with his eyes.

"You want to know how he died, don't you?" Thanos chuckled lowly. "Fine, then. I will show you."

A crushing grip suddenly seized Loki by the wrist. It _pulled_. And his right hand shot down, as if pulled by an invisible chord.

He felt the brush of leather and armor against his hand, as it reached down through the lapels of his coat. It went to the holster at his waist, and touched the cold hilt of his knife.

Loki's breaths shortened, as he understood with deep dread, what he would be forced to do by this.

He grimaced, and fought the pull on his hand.

It only caused his fingers to tremble, as they wrapped themselves around the hilt of his knife.

Harder, he tried.

His hand drew the knife out of its sheath. His arm came up shaking, as it extended, with the knife pointed in the direction of the throne.

Loki's vision fogged, as the arm led him, his feet pivoting in place, to face the throne steps.

"Why force me?" Loki suddenly asked, as he was dragged to the base of the steps by his own feet. "There's no pleasure you can gain—when I don't have a choice!"

The titan made a low chuckle.

"Oh, but you _did_ have a choice. Remember?"

Loki's stomach twisted. He hardly had a moment to suck in a breath, before his feet stumbled forward—carrying him up the first step.

He clenched his teeth, fighting with all his strength at every step. He reached for his magic, mentally commanding his feet to hold their ground. But despite his greatest efforts, his legs continued to move him up, ascending towards the throne, and the All-Father.

"No point in resisting," Thanos' voice boomed from behind. "If you give into it, it'll go much quicker."

"I'll never stop—" Loki retorted between gasps. "I'll _never_ stop fighting."

"Then I shall enjoy watching you squirm," Thanos chuckled.

Loki knew fighting was indeed useless. He could only prolong each step. He could only make the dagger waver side to side, as his fingers trembled with resistance.

Loki's eye flinched, as he surmounted the last step, and drew closer to Odin—seeing his father's old, weathered face in close detail. The sight of that old, familiar face yet having breath—yet having life—brought a painful sting to the back of Loki's eyes.

"His blood will not go unavenged," Loki breathed, speaking to Thanos, "I swear I will make you pay...even if killing you sends me to _Hel._"

Loki's hand slowly began to lower all by itself, resting rigidly at Loki's side. He breathed raggedly, beholding the All-Father, who hadn't lifted his eyes from the ground yet—hadn't seen him at all.

Then, Loki's feet took a step closer, so that he now stood a foot, right in front of the All-Father. Loki's throat closed, his grip around his knife trembling now.

Thanos' voice drew close, in a whisper that came closer than if the titan were standing directly behind him. Loki held his breath...

"His blood is not _mine_ to pay. Or have you forgotten...the meaning of the mark?"

Loki exhaled harshly.

"Forgive me, Father," he whispered under his breath, as fresh tears rimmed his eyes, his trembling hand lifting an inch...

And as if the All-Father heard, he lifted his head.

His left eye blinked, as he found Loki's face. Frown-lines deepened in his old, weathered face.

Then his frown disappeared. He inhaled softly between parting lips, his gaze softening. His eye shimmered, its gaze flickering back and forth between Loki's eyes.

"Loki?" he whispered, his brow beginning to lift. And he looked at Loki, as if he were seeing him for the very first time. "Lok—"

A scream stifled the word.

Odin's eyes went wide—as Loki's knife plunged itself into a weak spot in Odin's armor.

It was Loki's scream that shattered the air, as everything went white.

VVV

Loki bolted upright in bed, a harsh gasp ripping through his throat.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and shook him. Someone shouted in his face.

"Wake up, you silly oaf! Wake up!"

"Gah!" he cried, lashing out blindly in the dark. A hand seized his other shoulder, shaking him by both. He lay hold of the person's arm and fought them, gasping, "Let go of me!"

"Calm yourself!" the woman told him, giving him a hard shake. "It was only the Night Mare! But she's gone now—she left."

Loki stopped struggling, going still. He continued to breath hard, and felt cold sweat trickle down his forehead and collect at his brow. He blinked hard, tearing a glance about the room...

The gold-plated room.

Odin's bedchambers.

Right.

A single candle burned at the edge of the bed, held by the person who gripped his shoulder.

Amora.

Her scarred and tattooed face came into focus, by the light of the candle. She sat on the edge of the covers, her gray eyes locked onto his.

He released a shuddered breath, slackening his grip on her arm.

"Only a nightmare," he breathed unsteadily. He pressed his eyes shut, and let go of her. "Only a nightmare..."

"It's alright," she insisted somewhat softly. He twisted away from her grasp with his shoulders, sitting himself on the edge of the bed, and wiping the sweat from his face.

"So...how did it go?" she finally asked, leaning forward.

"How do you _think _it went?" he rasped, shooting her a look, before pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"I mean...did it work?" Amora specified. "The Night Mare must've shown you something!"

Loki's stomach twisted—but he just shook his head.

"No," he replied. "She didn't."

"What?" Amora exclaimed. "I can't believe it! But you saw—something that terrified you enough to wake you up in a scream. You were sweating, and mumbling in your sleep, this whole time—"

"Amora, _please!_" Loki replied harshly, lowering his clenching hand and glaring up at her. "Leave me in peace... I don't remember what I saw, alright? It's all a fog. Maybe later—"

"But whatever you saw, it frightened _her,_ too!" Amora persisted, disregarding him completely. She scoot closer to him, whispering rapidly. "She _screamed—_a shrill shriek, as she lifted off of you and _fled,_ in a panic. She wasn't in control—And she said something! Before she disappeared, she said, 'You _tricked_ me! You did not tell me _He_ would be in there, too!' We have to figure out what she meant—!"

"Enough!" Loki bellowed suddenly, causing Amora to flinch back. "I've had _enough_ for one tonight! Please...go."

Amora's eyes flashed, as she pushed herself off the bed, and stood facing him.

"Fine," she replied coldly. "Suit yourself."

Her black gown swirled behind her as she turned, storming out of the room.

She flicked her hand, and the golden doors opened for her. Without glancing behind, she waved her hand in a circle, snuffing out the lone torch that illuminated the room.

The doors slammed behind her, and Loki found himself in complete darkness once more.

For a moment he just sat there in the silence. He stared into the dark, images returning to him, making him cold all over—but most of all, frozen inside.

His throat drew tight, a watery breath rising. It caught painfully before it could release.

He bent over the edge of the bed, setting his feet down on the gold floors, and landing his face in his palms, before a shiver ran from his shoulders, shuddering his entire back.

VVV

_To be continued... _

_ Thanks for reviewing! Can't wait to hear what you think!_

_ Trengsel now has an official facebook page! You can also check out a trailer for the story I made on my youtube channel (darthxerik). Search "Trengsel trailer" on youtube, and you should be able to find it!_

Blessings!  
~DarthxErik


	9. Trial and Error

_ Hello, dear readers! Thanks so much for all the reviews and continued support. Sorry for another hiatus. Life happens. Hope you enjoy this chapter though, and the rest that are to come!_

_ One of the songs I listened to for inspiration while writing this chapter was Skylar Grey's "Words." _

_ Well...enjoy! Things are about to get really interesting..._

VVV

CHAPTER NINE

"TRIAL AND ERROR"

VVV

"Contempt loves the silence

It thrives in the dark

With fine winding tendrils

That strangle the heart

They say that promises

Sweeten the blow

But I don't need them

No, I don't need them...

I've been treated so wrong

I've been treated so long

As if I'm becoming untouchable

I'm a slow dying flower

Frost killing hour

The sweet turning sour

And untouchable."

\- Natalie Merchant, _My Skin_

VVV

_ "Then am I not your mother?"_

_ Loki's eyes widened. _

_ Her words were like a stab through his heart. _

_ He slid a step back, suddenly becoming breathless. _

_ The question trapped him—shoved him straight into a corner, where he faced two insurmountable walls, enclosing him on either side._

_ He had to make a choice. _

_ Either he could deny Odin the self-same thing Odin continued to deny Loki: admission of familial bond..._

_ Or he could relent. He could bend, break, and beg for long-denied forgiveness..._

_ But what was the point?_

_ Too much wrong had been done. There could be no forgiveness, on either side._

_ Loki inhaled deeply, presently staring into his sweet mother's eyes..._

_ He knew what she knew: that if he denied Odin as father..._

_He'd have to deny her, too. _

_ The aching truth made his heart crack, and crumble. But he made every effort not to betray his emotion. _

_ He straightened up. Then calmly shut his lips, putting on a veneer of calm indifference._

_ He could hardly look her in the eye, blinking, as he swallowed the lump in his throat._

_ Then in a clear, unfeeling tone, he offered her his answer—the truth._

_ "You're not." _

_ As soon as he had uttered those words, he turned cold, and stiff._

_ He knew those words were true, in his mind. She was not his mother, in blood. _

_ But his heart..._

_ His heart knew he had lied._

_ His heart knew she was his mother._

_ And to deny her thus... _

_ It was like he had just shot a poison-tipped arrow straight at her. He saw it in her eyes: his words struck her like a physical blow. _

_ She fell back a step, staring at him with wide, glistening eyes. Then her head shook halfway, and she _smiled, _emitting a soft chuckle._

_ But her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. The smile was a mask. He knew because he inherited the same habit from her..._

_ When he noticed the tears in her eyes, it brought a sting to his own._

_ And when she drew forth a step, towards him, he felt like backing away. But his feet didn't move. He kept still, as she lifted her chin and whispered:_

_ "Always so perceptive," she said, tilting her head. Her smile then fell. "...about everyone but yourself."_

_ He felt his heart sink._

_ Tears filling his eyes, he didn't know what to say. _

_ He saw her lift her hands. She offered them up to him with open palms, and nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting softly. Even her eyes smiled invitingly—warmly._

_ Once, he would have flown into her arms. _

_ Now, all he could do was press his lips together, so she wouldn't see the way his lip threatened to quiver. He breathed a weak sigh. _

_ Shutting his eyes, he bowed his head and shook it, shuffling a step towards her. He reached out, as if to touch her hand..._

_ But his hand went _through_ hers. _

_ It shattered the illusion—ending the transmission._

_ Her projection began to flee rapidly, emerald magic eating away at her form, starting at the tips of her fingers, running through her arms, her gown, and shoulders. _

_ As her illusion fell away, he watched her eyes. They held his gaze till the last possible moment, shimmering, and brimming with tears. He himself could not contain his own—a knot climbing in his throat._

_ Before she left, she parted her lips. As if she wished to speak._

_ He almost said something...  
_

_ But instead, kept silent, pressing his lips together tight. _

_ Neither of them spoke. Neither of them said a word, a farewell, or an apology, as the last traces of her fled away, completely vanishing from sight. _

_ He was left alone, once more, in the cold, white, emptiness of his cell. _

_ With a tight mouth, he lowered his gaze to the floor, feeling a burden rest on his shoulders..._

_ For the words he did not say, and for what he wished he could take back—but couldn't. _

_ Pressing his eyes shut, he released a soundless sigh._

A twinge ran through the back of his right hand.

It made him start.

He inhaled, and snapped his head up, blinking to clear his eyes—the pain from his mark apparently pulling him out of a daydream.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the bright light of the sun, brilliantly reflecting off of shimmering waters in an octagonally-shaped pool, just to his left. He sat at the edge of it, near enough that he could see his reflection past the sprinkles of lily petals that floated gently across the pool's glassy surface.

The pool marked the center of the gathering room, where the adjoining royal bedchambers converged. Those doors were barred shut, as were the double doors to the main hall, where the Einherjar stood guard.

Rows of steps lined the chamber, leading up to landings that were furnished with floor vases, candelabras, and chaises with cushions. Up the longer flight of stairs to his right stood a row of open archways, through which one could see the sun hanging low in a dusking sky. The eternal stars twinkled in the purple-orange sky streaked with clouds of fiery gold.

If one looked over the balcony's edge, one would see the Queen's gardens, which stretched on towards the stables, fields, and the forests. From where Loki sat, he could just make out the very tips of Asgard's skyline, and the outlying mountains beyond.

But he could not hear the faint chirping of birds, or the rushing of waterfalls, in the gardens below. All he could hear was smacking—the sound of someone eating, without keeping their mouth closed.

Turning his head left, his eyes found the person who sat at the pool's edge, right next to him.

Amora.

She wasn't paying attention to him. She wasn't even looking at him.

Rather, her focus was wholly on the platter of food that rested in her lap. She picked from a lump of green grapes, popping one of them into her mouth, and continuing her incessant smacking.

Loki kept his wrists limply resting on his knees, and attempted to glance off into the pool. But her chewing noises prevented him from being able to think.

So he stole another glance, from the corner of his eye...

She had already finished her grapes, and moved onto her leg of pheasant.

The noise she made while eating had been bad enough. But the sight of it was even worse.

She was chewing on her pheasant leg, holding it sideways by the bone, in a fist. And she was nibbling on it, most ravenously, as if food in this realm were going scarce. And it seemed that she had unlearned the concept of using a napkin during her time away from Asgard. Every time her fingers got covered in grease, she merely wiped them off on the edge of her skirt, as if nothing. He wrinkled his noise in disgust. Her table manners would, no doubt, offend even the lowest of Asgard's provincials.

At least her usual choice of all-black attire would've hid the grease stains better. But no. Today she had decided to wear a silk, chartreuse-colored gown, instead.

Loki rocked back, folding one of his legs on top of the other, making a frown.

She picked such extravagant clothes to wear this day. What was the occasion? None that he knew of. And there wouldn't be any banquets they would be attending—no feasts, or celebrations. He had made sure of it. He had pronounced that the house of Odin was in a special time of mourning. He, as king, wouldn't be seeing many people. And neither would she.

And yet, this day, she chose to deck herself in unusual decadence.

Perhaps she was merely taking advantage of all of the luxuries that had been her disposal, as the king's adviser.

Good for her, then, if that was the case.

Along with her bright green dress, she had a shining, golden bodice fitted around her middle. The dress was practically sleeveless, its one sleeve slinging from the gold epaulette on her right shoulder. The fabric crossed in front, but did not cover her neckline, which plunged lower than usual.

He resisted his eyes' automatic draw to that area, focusing his eyes instead on her copper necklace—the one like her sisters'—Amora's constant talisman.

Today, the weather was warm. So she hadn't donned on her fur-lined cape. Consequently, her shoulders now lay bare, along with her long, pale arms, which were now only covered with a pair of gold bracelets that wound up her forearms in the shape of two fork-tongued adders.

She also wore a small pair of dangling, emerald earrings. He'd never seen her show this much skin, or wear such fine jewelry before.

Despite her embellishments, though, her hard features with tattoo markings and scars had not changed. Neither had her sharp, kohl-rimmed eyes softened. Her half-braided, half-shaven platinum locks couldn't be altered overnight. Her overall look was simply too savage in the halls of Asgard. Even for the ranks of the Valkyrie, she would look out of place...

Suddenly, Amora lifted her eyes from her plate and thinned her eyes.

"Quit staring at me!"

"I wasn't," he denied flatly.

"No? Then stop sitting there in silence. Look!" She pointed with her fork at his plate full of food. "You haven't even touched your plate!"

"What if I'm not hungry?" he said.

"Well, that's not a good excuse." Dropping her knife, she pushed his plate towards him. "Come on. There's a lot riding on your good health right now. As king, you can't starve yourself."

"As _king,_" he countered, shoving the plate the opposite way—in her direction. "I shall do as I please."

"Fine," she sighed. "Suit yourself. More food for me."

She reached for his plate, and took it as her own. She dumped his potato, squash and asparagus onto her plate. She also took up his goblet—without asking—and placed it by her hip, next to her other one. Then she set his empty platter aside, and started his potatoes.

"Though, I swear, Loki..." she shook her head. "If you decide to drop dead one of these days from all the malnourishment...I swear it. I'll kill you."

"Doubly pointless, since I'd already be dead...and, as it happens...I can't seem to stay dead for very long. And with this curse in me...I suspect it'd be even harder for you to try."

"True, true," she conceded, before eating a bite of his potato. She murmured satisfactorily, then began to cut some more. Even with her mouth full, she decided to keep speaking, changing the subject. "Say. Any luck recalling the nightmare?"

He rubbed his palm against his knee. Then shook his head once.

"No...no luck."

"Nothing? Not even after the memory potion I gave you last night?"

"Nothing," he maintained—a flat-out lie.

She cursed under her breath. "I was rather hoping it'd kick in by now. Hmm. What about the sleep potion from two nights ago? Has that helped?"

"Barely," he replied. "It's not that I don't _feel_ like resting. It's the mark that decides to act up—especially at night. It prevents me from getting more than a wink's sleep, every hour."

"Well that's no good." She set her fork down, and wiped her fingers on her skirt. Then she spoke again, with pause: "You know...I'm beginning to wonder what else can be done for you! Since we've tried virtually everything there is to try, except for the methods you've refused to let us dabble in, of course. But it makes me wonder... And I've been thinking. Do you recall what the Night Mare said...about curses? About the one she had?"

Loki shook his head, uncertain of what she was getting at.

"Not...verbatim. No."

Taking one of her goblets up, she crossed her legs, and turned to face him.

"Well...she said something rather interesting. Something about how she was never able to get rid of it—of her own curse. She _laughed_ at us, even...when we suggested we might have better luck with getting rid of yours."

"Unhelpful spirit, all around, wouldn't you say?" he remarked.

"I don't know," Amora said, lowering her goblet in her lap. "What if she was right, Loki? What if there _is_ no way of breaking it? What if it is of such a kind...that you have to learn how to live with it, as she did—?"

"Hold on a moment," he stopped her, lifting up a hand. "You mean to tell me that _Amora_...the _Enchantress_...is willing to give up, _that_ easily?"

"I'm not saying that," she argued.

"No? Then what are you blathering about?"

"What I'm saying...is that some magic—as you and I both know—_cannot_ be controlled."

"Right..."

"Some magic is too ancient—too deep to be understood. Recall those ancient relics that the masters of Asgard wouldn't even dare touch—"

"Some masters were cowards...and unfit for their positions," Loki interjected.

"Agreed. But take for instance...the forbidden realms. Or the spells that should never be uttered...lest we turn to stone."

"Get to the point."

She sighed throatily.

"Your curse. It's like nothing I've ever encountered, in all of my travels. Curses—the ones I've studied—typically transform the subject, irrevocably, into some horrible monster. This curse only gave you a mark. I'm not sure if we can apply what we know about ordinary curses, to your situation. How do you know your life is in danger? Besides giving you an aura of dark magic, occasionally giving you flashes of discomfort, depriving you of some sleep, and altering your sense of taste...what harm has it really done?"

"How about the time where it took over and possessed me?" he leaned forward, voice sharpening. "Made me _kill_ my father? So that I woke up with his blood on my hands, without recalling how I even _got_ there?"

"Alright, so there was that one time," she admitted, glancing down into her cup. "That is, of course..." She paused. "...if your narrative of that whole ordeal is indeed what truly happened."

He frowned.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know! I don't doubt your word. Even if it does come from the lips of The Silvertongue."

He thinned his eyes.

"Remember that it was _your_ deeds, and not mine, that earned me that title."

"Oh, still bitter about that, are we?" she chuckled, swirling her goblet slowly. "It's not that I care for my sake, how it happened. I really don't. But whether it was the curse, or whether the curse is just an alibi of yours...might affect our work. Just saying."

"Come now. You seriously think I'm making half of this up? Now why would I do that? what would be the point? There's nothing to gain..."

"Except for a throne," she pointed out. "Isn't that what you've always wanted? A kingdom to rule?"

He parted his mouth, about to answer her.

But then he thought better of it, and closed it. Gripping his knees, he glanced away with a twist of his jaw, shaking his head.

"Go right ahead! Think what you will of me."

She finished a sip of her mead, and wiped her mouth with the back of her arm.

"It's not really my opinion you should be concerned about, you know. I honestly don't give a damn whether you killed Odin or not. Why should I give a care about the royal affairs of a realm I am no longer a part of? And I have nothing to gain from letting your secrets slip. It's everyone else you should concern yourself about. People like Heimdall, or Tyr. Unless you want your head lobbed off someday, I suggest you come up with a more convincing alibi—one that would hold up in Asgard's court. Someday Heimdall's going to see a flicker in your carefully-crafted illusion and it's not going to be pretty."

Loki shook his head.

"I'm not too worried about him," he assured her, with a wave of the hand. "I've seen to it that he's been keeping busy with a certain task that has kept his gaze diverted—"

"What sort of task?" she perked up with sudden curiosity.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and curled his fingers around his knee.

"Nothing...that concerns you."

"Hm..." she murmured, tapping a finger against her chin and lips. "Well now you've got me curious. You always tell me what's happening in the court. Why hide the gatekeeper's task from me...?"

Before he could answer, her eyes flashed. A glint passed through them, and she gasped...

"Thor," she exclaimed. "That's his business, isn't it?"

At the mention of his brother's name, Loki stiffened. He made an unconscious sigh.

Her smile grew. And Loki watched with strange curiosity...

He had seen this look in her eye before. It seemed familiar...

"Thor," she affirmed. "He's the distraction! Of course..."

Her smile grew further, and she bit her lip, as if withholding a giggle. She tilted her head, and tucked a loose braid behind her ear.

That's when he remembered.

His mind flew back in time...

Centuries ago...

To the day Amora first stepped foot in the palace—her first day as his apprentice.

He was giving her the grand tour, having shown her the study halls, her own private chambers, the archives, the healing rooms, and the feasting hall.

They were on their way to the gardens and the stables, when they ran across Odin and Frigga. Loki introduced Amora to them, and she greeted them with a short bow, a polite smile, and all-around good conduct—just as he had previously instructed her. She answered all their questions, and never spoke out of turn. She left a good impression on them.

But everything went sour after that. All sense of decorum vanished when they ran into Thor, further down the hall. He was just returning from a sparring match, all covered in grime and sweat—fresh scrapes on his arms and face from the match.

The elder prince wore his sleeveless, red tunic, Loki remembered. His muscular arms glowed with a tan from many hours spent in the sun. His black, metallic boots pounded heavily against the gold floors, as he marched up to them, the painted picture of a ruddy Asgardian warrior—even in his casual attire.

And when Loki introduced Amora to him, she seemed to forget herself. She forgot the proper salutation. She forgot how to address him. All she could do was stand there, with a silly grin on her face, as she filled her eyes with Thor's arm muscles.

This was hardly unusual for ladies to behave this way around Thor. Especially during their first encounter with him. He had that kind of effect on them. So Loki attributed this lapse in etiquette to that expected, initial reaction.

But Loki remembered that self-same glint in her eye and that smile—then, and every time Thor's name was mentioned thereafter.

She currently bore it now, not even realizing that her cheeks had turned a noticeable shade of pink, as she played with a braid of her hair.

"I was beginning to wonder," she admitted, "how you managed to keep him away all this time! You must've sent him off with quite a fool's errand...to keep him away, all this time."

Loki's mouth remained flat, as he answered.

"Actually, there was no need. He left of his own accord."

"Where to?" she asked.

"Midgard," Loki replied—cursing himself internally an instant later for revealing that to her.

"Oh? Midgard?" She made a face before she lifted her goblet to her lips, getting ready to drink. "I mean...I'm sure there is some fun to be had there, if meddling in the mortals' affairs is what you call 'fun.' But hardly any action—the kind Thor was ever so keen on pursuing."

Loki's gaze turned distant. He flicked a speck of dust off his knee, and replied, more lowly:

"He wished to return, not to pursue battle, but to be with his mortal woman, there..."

Amora spat out her drink, choking.

"What?!" She asked, wiping her mouth. "Thor? With a _mortal?_ Surely...you're jesting!"

He shook his head.

"I am not jesting."

"But...no! No, it cannot be..." Tension rose in her voice. "Thor—he can't be in love with a mortal!"

"Why ever not?"

"Because!" she exhaled roughly. "Because it's a ludicrous notion! How could he do such a thing?"

"I really don't see how it's any of our business," Loki replied. "Does this...anger you?"

"Of _course_ it angers me!" she raised her voice, landing her cup on the stone rim of the pool. "I mean...only _fools _yoke themselves to mere mortals! They are beneath us in every way! You mustn't stand for it!"

"Believe me," he sighed, "there was no stopping him. He had made up his mind."

Her throat muscles became red and taught.

"But...he _cannot_ do this! Of all the maidens in all the realms...how could he choose a mortal _cow?_ Is he blind? He must be! For how could he not see...all the maidens of Asgard who would've done anything—_anything_—just to garner his attention?!"

A flash passed through her eyes.

Her cheeks had turned red.

Suddenly, she clamped her jaw, and twisted her head away, so as to hide the emotion hid behind her eyes...

But he had seen.

He had seen that look before, a hundred thousand times before, in his own eyes. It was an unmistakable emotion...

Jealousy.

It overwhelmed her—had made her careless.

And in a flash, a vision appeared before his eyes:

Lady Sif.

She stood before him once more; her cheeks stained with tears; her eyes inflamed, like she had cried the whole night before; and her hair black as midnight—a mess.

But her eyes...

He shall never forget...

They were colder than ice, as she whispered the words that would never leave the back of his mind...

_"I shall _never_ forgive you."_

In another flash, the memory fled, and he sat staring at Amora once more.

And, for the first time in all those years...

He finally understood.

Why...

Amora had done it.

He saw Thor's face. Then Sif's.

Then Amora's. All in a flash...

He finally knew.

And the revelation suddenly made him feel sick.

Lips parted, he slowly lifted his chin, landing his darkening gaze on her.

It was her who first broke the silence, with an angry huff.

"Well! His little flit won't last long!" she predicted. "And in case he returns soon...we've got to get a move on. Another summoning perhaps?"

"Right..." his tone turned sarcastic. "Because that worked out _so_ well the last time we tried."

"I'm not talking about getting the Night Mare again. Goodness no!" she chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm talking about other spirits! There are all manner of them we could conjure up! Dark forces, and magicians of old—"

"Let me make this one thing clear, Amora," he interjected with sudden firmness. "_Never_ again will we do another summoning."

"Never again?" she questioned, making a pouting face. "But why not?"

"Because," he replied. "Because the whole thing was a sordid business to begin with."

"So?"

"So..." He exhaled roughly. "We were fighting with fire, Amora. Pitting dark against dark..."

"And what's wrong with that...?" she asked.

He shook his head, glanced away, and sighed once again, blinking fast.

"When you fight fire with fire, you only get burned." He sighed. "And when you try to drive out darkness with darkness...it doesn't work. You always come out scathed."

"Oh, ho ho..." she chuckled. "That's not always true. Where in the realms did you hear such a thing?"

He swallowed. Then he lowered his gaze into his lap, falling into silence.

Drawing in breath, he released a long sigh. Then he slowly smoothed his pant leg with his palm, and replied, in a quiet tone:

"My mother...she once told me that."

Amora nodded, her gaze falling into her lap.

Then her boots clicked against the floor. Her silk dress rustled, as she stood to her feet.

"Well...sounds like she had no idea what she was talking about."

Loki's mouth parted...

But he bit down on the inside of his cheek, and watched her walk away, without saying anything.

She went to the washroom and left him there, to gaze at the lilies that floated in the pool—their gradual movement and the sparkling sun mesmerizing him.

His eyelids drooped shut. He sighed.

When he opened his eyes, the light in the room had changed. It was now brighter—purer.

He blinked and swept his gaze right...

The sky was now a pale blue—no longer purple and copper. The air smelt sweeter than before, reminding him of spring, instead of autumn.

And as he relaxed his shoulders, he became aware of how weightless they felt. They no longer ached, with knots. It was as if a burden had been lifted off them—one he did not realize he had been carrying.

He glanced left, and sparkling light hit his eyes. He was sitting in the exact same spot, by the pool, in the gathering room.

But the atmosphere of the room had changed. Somehow he felt lighter than before...

When he kicked his foot, he didn't feel the floor. He glanced down. His legs didn't reach; they dangled over the edge. And he was wearing different clothes: gray pants, small black boots, and an olive shirt with rolled-up sleeves to his elbows, and a vest, with a belt strapped around his waist.

He had forgotten he even owned these clothes. The last time he had wore them, was probably centuries ago...

Suddenly, he felt pain flash in his palms.

He winced, and curled his fingers which rested in his lap...

They were a pale, and pinkish in hue. But instead of lithe, his hands were small: the size of a child's.

_"Loki."_

The voice came, gentler than wind.

And suddenly, he forgot himself, surrendering fully to the memory that appeared as a vision.

_ "Let me see your hands?" the voice asked._

_ He lifted his eyes, and saw..._

Mother.

_ She was sitting straight across from him, at the edge of the pool. Their knees touched. Radiant sunlight encircled her honey-copper hair with haze, like a halo._

_ Her blue eyes—vast as the ocean—gazed down into his face, open and soft._

_ She gave him a reassuring nod. Her hands were open and upturned, resting in her lap, inviting him to give her his hands._

_ He bit his lip, as his gaze fell to his two tight fists._

_ The skin of his palms stung terribly, utterly raw and sensitive to the slightest movement. _

_ He couldn't move. He couldn't uncurl his fingers. It hurt too much. _

_ So he didn't. He shook his downcast head sadly, telling her: _

_ "I can't." His voice came out feeble and small. "It hurts." _

_ "I know it does, Dearheart..." she answered tenderly, landing a hand on his knee, comforting him. "But it cannot heal if you don't show me. It's alright. I will be careful."_

_ He lifted his eyes, meeting hers. _

_ Then he drew in a deep breath._

_ Very, very slowly—he began to uncurl his fingers._

_ They trembled. And he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from whimpering in the back of his throat. Gradually, he bared his hands, so she could see—just how badly scorched they were._

_ His palms were red and inflamed, blistering, and scarred._

_ He held his breath and glanced up at his Mother, watching her reaction._

_ She immediately let out a soft gasp._

_ And her face tightened—but it did not frown._

_"Oh...Loki! My dear boy..." she moaned, her hands reaching out and hovering over his, without touching. "Oh, my dear boy...how did this happen?"_

_ He sighed, his lip quivering._

_ "I wanted to try and master the spark spell you taught us, last night." _

_ "The spark spell?" she asked. "You tried it last night, on your own?"_

_ He nodded._

_ "I thought...I thought that if I tried hard enough, I could get it right. But..." He slumped his shoulders, sighing again. "The harder I tried, the more I kept on failing. I couldn't make a spark, and my fingers were blistering. So, then I thought...maybe if I used a pair of gloves..."_

_ "Gloves, Loki?" she asked, her brow tightening. "But you remember what I taught you about gloves? How we never use them, to do magic? They are good for riding, and for gardening. But a magician should never cover his hands. It stops the flow of magic." She sighed, thinning her mouth. "But how could you have known...? I should have shown you why. I'm sorry you had to learn this way."_

_ Loki sniffed, lowering his hands onto his knees, gazing at the burn marks._

_ "I shouldn't have tried it alone. It was my fault. When I put on the gloves, and tried the spell again...the spark worked, and turned into a fire...inside the gloves."_

_ "Oh, dearest..." Frigga murmured. "You could've woken us. I hate to think that you suffered this alone. You can always knock on our door!"_

_ "I know," he swallowed thickly. "But I did not want Father to see..."_

_ "See what?" she asked gently._

_ "How I failed. Again," he muttered, suddenly feeling his throat close. _

_ "You have not failed, Dearheart," she smiled softly, lifting his chin with her hand. He met her eyes, still fighting back tears. "You are still learning. We are _all_ still learning. Even your father makes mistakes sometimes." She lowered her hand from his chin to his shoulder and sighed. "Just promise me, dear...that you will come to me straightaway, next time? You should never suffer pain like this alone. Promise me?"_

_ He blinked. Then nodded. _

_ "I promise."_

_ Her lips softened, and she lowered her hand down to his arm, stroking it. _

_ Then her forehead wrinkled._

_ "Is there any reason why you felt you had to master it so quickly, last night?" she asked._

_ His gaze lowered, and he shrugged._

_ "I just...I wanted so badly...to progress."_

_ "To progress?" she asked, stroking his sleeve. "But you _are_ progressing, my child. Be patient and kind with yourself. You are progressing far faster than any other young magician I know."_

_ He grew downcast again._

_ "I know," he answered. "But that isn't fast enough." _

_ "Why is that, my darling?"_

_ "Because _Thor_ mastered the spell last night! And now he's at _my_ level!" he blurted, not intending for his voice to come out so loud, but it did. Frigga lowered her hand from his arm. He kept going: "Thor's never been at my level before! But now he is. And soon, he'll be a level ahead of me." _

_ "I see," she empathized. "You did not want him to surpass you. But Loki, you must remember...that he is several years older than you. He was already falling behind, and would've been held back in his studies, had he not shown some progress in this area that you have never struggled in. Truly, we should be glad your brother has made progress. Remember, that you are, and have_ always_ had the gift."_

_ "But I _shall _not be the one with the gift, anymore!" his small voice rose sharply. "Now that Thor has it too, I shall have nothing. Thor has other talents. I have none. This means that Father will never have to..."_

_ His throat suddenly closed. He couldn't bring himself to finish._

_ Silence fell. _

_ A gentle hand landed on his shoulder. Mother asked him:_

_ "He will never have to _what,_ my darling...?"_

_ He began to curl his little fingers into fists. He ignored the pain, and replied thickly:_

_ "He will...never have to speak to me...again. At the dinner table. He asks Thor about many things...about his sparring lessons, what the masters tell about him—he asks for every detail. Not so, with me. He only asks how I progress with my magic." Loki wiping his nose with his sleeve, sniffing. "And the other night, after Thor showed Father how he could produce a spark with a snap of his fingers, father said we now have two magicians in the family! He said that." _

_ "I'm sure your Father didn't intend any slight, Loki..." Frigga reasoned, taking hold of his shoulder. _

_ He responded stiffly, and averted her gaze, tears eventually gathering in his eyes._

_ "Perhaps. But it's like I became invisible for the rest of the evening."_

_"Oh, Loki..." Frigga sighed, reaching up and stroking a tuft of hair behind his right ear. "Your father _loves_ you, very much. I know he didn't mean to hurt your feelings, at all. He had a lot on his mind yesterday." Holding his neck, she bent forward and locked eyes with him. "But know this: he is very proud of you, Loki."_

_ Loki sniffed._

_ "He...he told you? He is proud of me...?" _

_ She smiled tightly._

_"Of course he is," she told him. "He couldn't be prouder of you. Why...do you know what he told me, just last night?" _

_ Wide-eyed, Loki shook his head._

_ She leaned closer, and whispered, like she was telling him a secret, that no one else should overhear._

_ "He told me that if it wasn't for you...Thor wouldn't have made such progress. Your Father knows. He has seen, how ever since you and Thor started working on magic together...he has improved, by following your example. Your Father has noticed this change, and made note months ago. And he is _very_ proud of you, for being patient with your brother—very proud."_

_ Loki blinked away tears, finally daring to lift his gaze._

_ "You...you really think so?" _

_ "I _know_ so."_

_ Then she leaned forward, and kissed the crown of his head. When she pulled away, she showed him a warm smile._

_ "Now," she said. "Let's have a look at those hands."_

_He made a nod, and made a movement towards her. He could not use his hands. She saw him struggle, so she helped him. Ccooping him up in her arms, she placed him in her lap, so that his head leaned back against her bosom. He could smell her sweet perfume on her hair, filling him with the fresh scent of honey nectar and roses._

_ "Let's see..." she murmured, resting her chin on the crown of his head and wrapping her arms over his shoulders, gingerly taking his hands by the wrists, and examining the wounds carefully."My, my...what magic these little fingers possess! Why, these are the hands of a true magician."_

_ Loki began to smile, his heart swelling with pride. She began to slowly rub circles into his wrists with her thumbs, her touch soothing him and gradually making him forget the pain in his hands. He felt her throat vibrate against the back of his neck as she began to hum an old lullaby—one that she always sang to him, whenever he was ill, or sad._

_ He stared off into the glittering pool, as she sang. And eventually, he had forgotten all about the pain in his hands. _

_Once she had finished her song, he tilted his head slightly, and asked her a question__—one that had suddenly popped into his head:_

_ "Mother...where does magic come from?"_

_ Her chin lifted from his head, an inch._

_ "Well, magic comes from three different sources." Leaning her head down, she whispered in his ear. "Would you like me to teach you what they are right now? Or shall I save it for our next lesson?"_

_ "No! Teach me, now!" he insisted excitedly._

_ "Oh, alright," she lifted her head, and chuckled. "But first...do you recall what we reviewed last week? The five Pillars of Magic?"_

_ "Yes, yes," he nodded._

_ "Wonderful. Well, as you recall...there are five different kinds of magic. Can you name the most mysterious form of magic? The one with the green symbol, in our book?"_

_ "Soul magic!" Loki answered, without hesitation._

_ "Well done, Loki! Very good. Soul Magic. Well, it just so happens that the first place magic comes from is the _soul. _It is our life-force. And though we have a physical heart, we also have an _unseen_ heart. Magicians must protect their_ _heart, above all else. For if it is ever darkened, then his source of magic becomes broken. The magician's heart must remain pure, clean, and selfless, if the strongest of spells are to work." _

_ Loki's eyes fell._

_ "I tried to heal my hands, after I burned them," he confessed. "Is that why I couldn't? Because I had been bad?" _

_ "I doubt it, dear one." She hugged him closer to her chest. "Your heart is pure, my son, and full of light. You have what it takes. All you need is some _practice..._and perhaps a bit of patience with yourself. In time, you will master all these things. Someday, you'll know everything I know, and more."_

_ He sighed, smiling now._

_ "And," she continued, pressing a cheek against the side of his head. "You brought up your hands. That is the second place magic comes from! Our physical touch. Magic tendrils often reside in the air, in the ground, and in our bodies. We use our tongues and our bodies—our gestures—to connect to the tendrils, through touch, or command. To feel for the tendrils, we must use all of our being, including our touch." _

_ She took his hands, cupping them in hers. _

_ Loki anticipated a sting. Instead, he felt no pain, surprisingly, as she wrapped her fingers all the way around, enclosing his hands in hers, giving them a kiss._

_ "Our hands are very important. Magic can only flow through them properly when they are empty. Magic must flow through us, freely and unhindered. We must _trust_ it, completely...not holding anything back. Purest magic requires our all."_

_ He sighed, his forehead tightening._

_ "Sounds...awfully hard."_

_ She chuckled lightly._

_ "It can be," she admitted, rubbing soft circles on the backs of his hands. "But if magic were easy, then everyone would do it. Only the few brave ones can be entrusted with it. You have what it takes, Loki."_

_ Her words warmed his heart. He smiled to himself, no longer feeling the stinging in his hands._

_ Something made his mother still her hands on his for a moment. The air drew quiet for a moment. Then she cleared her throat, and went on with her lesson:_

_ "The third place magic comes from, Loki...is the magician's blood. His veins. Magic is...inherited. Your father has it, as do I. And...it runs deep, on both sides of our family. And it has been passed down to you. That is one of the reasons why it comes so naturally to you. It is in your blood." _

_ Again, she paused her hands, releasing a sigh. Then she continued rubbing his hands, quieting her voice._

_ "Blood, is a powerful mystery. It carries life, from the heart, through the veins, to all members of the body. And like the soul, it must also be pure. If the soul has light, then the veins have light. If the veins have light...then the rest of the body has light...including the hands." _

_ Cupping his hands, she lifted them to her lips and kissed them—a kiss on the back of each hand. _

_"There!" she exclaimed, giving his hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them. "See? All better now."_

_ Loki made a gasp. He lifted his hands to his eyes, flexing his fingers. He gawked, staring at them in disbelief, flipped them over and over in front of his eyes..._

_ They no longer hurt._

_ He giggled. He laughed._

_ No more burn marks. No more scars... _

_ "Mother! Mother!" he gasped, twisting around to look into her face. "You did it! You healed me! How did you...?" _

_ "Magic," she whispered, beaming down at him. "Go on! Try one of the spells you know!"_

_ Smiling and biting his lip, he glanced down at his hands. Drawing them in towards his chest, he sucked in a breath, and shut his eyes._

_ Then he flicked his fingers out, and watched—_

_ Out came a burst of green sparkles, like fairy dust._

_ He gasped, and watched in glee as the specks of magic flew, eventually dissipating into the air. _

_ Giggling, he clapped his hands together. A few more sparks flew. Even that didn't hurt his hands! He was all better. _

_ "Oh, Mother!" he exclaimed, his heart so full of joy, he thought it might burst._

_ Then he turned round, leaped up, and wrapped his arms around his mother's neck. She hugged him back at once, wrapping him up in a tight embrace that seemed to dispel every last bit of heaviness in his heart, warming it with light. _

_ "Thank you! Thank you!" he whispered in her ear, shutting his eyes, hanging onto her tightly. She did not let go of him, rubbing his shoulders and rocking him back and forth. "Truly, your magic is the most powerful magic...in all the nine realms!"_

_ She chuckled softly. And only when he loosened his arms did she pull away. _

_ She gazed down at him with watery eyes, stroking a lock of his raven hair from his brow. Leaning forward, she kissed the center of his forehead, and pulled away, smiling._

_"No, my sweet boy," she replied faintly, pointing to his heart. "_Love..._is the most powerful magic, in all the nine realms."_

A shock traveled up Loki's arm, making his right shoulder hitch up. He winced, and blinked his eyes...

The room drew dim. The memory fell away, before his eyes, like a stain of breath upon a mirror. His mother rippled and faded away, replaced by another...

Amora's form clarified, sitting before him once more.

A certain heaviness returned to Loki's frame, causing his shoulders to slump and ache.

"Did you hear me, Loki?" Amora snapped. "Ey?"

Still blinking away the fog, Loki looked directly at her, as best as he could.

"What?"

"Were you listening to me, Loki?" she came again.

He made a frown, still orienting himself.

"Frankly...I wasn't."

"For heaven's sake," she sighed through her teeth. "Then what were you daydreaming about?"

Pressing a hand to his temple, he shut his eyes, frowning more deeply.

"It was...just a memory," he sighed.

"A memory? Of what? Who?"

"Frigga," he said, dropping his hand to his lap and opening his eyes. "My mother."

"Oh..." her voice dropped. "Well...at least...what did you recall? Anything of importance?"

He gazed out over the pool, letting out a long sigh.

"I was but a boy again, at my mother's knee...listened to her, as she taught me...one of my earliest magic lessons I can recall."

"That's it?" Amora asked. "Anything...more _useful_ in that memory?"

He looked at her, deepening his frown.

"Useful?"

"Did she happen to mention anything about the curse? The Night Mare? No?"

He breathed in deeply.

"No," he finally uttered.

She let out a huff.

"Well! Some memory potion _that_ turned out to be! Now we'll never find out what happened in that nightmare of yours. Useless."

He came this close to remarking upon _her_ usefulness, when there came a sound that made him jump:

A hard knock at the door.

_Rap, rap, rap._

Loki glanced over his left shoulder, at the double doors, sucking in a breath.

Then he shot to his feet and faced them, spreading his stance.

Mentally, he enchanted his tongue. Then he spoke up, in Odin's weathered voice:

"Who knocks?"

The man outside the doors answered:

"The guard, sire, with a message from our Gatekeeper."

Loki sighed through his nose.

With a wave of his hand, his illusion commenced, enveloping him in flashes of green. Once he appeared as Odin—even holding Gungnir in hand—he drew himself up.

"Enter," he told the guard.

A second passed.

Then the doors split open, and in entered three Einherjar.

The one at center halted first, slapping a fist to his breastplate as he bowed at the waist. The others mirrored him. Then he straightened, clearing his throat.

"Sire," he said. "Heimdall requests a private audience with you, at your earliest convenience. He says it is a matter of some urgency."

Loki lifted his chin.

Then he made a nod.

"Bring me my chariot. Tell him I'll meet him at the observatory within the hour."

"As you wish, sire."

Then the guard thumped his chest, and stooped again. He turned, and the others flanked him, following him out of the chamber and into the hall.

Only after the doors shut behind them, and locked with a _clink_, did Loki release his shoulders, breathing a heavy sigh.

"Hmm..." Amora murmured, breaking the silence. "I wonder what Heimdall wishes to speak to you about..."

Loki thinned his mouth, sighing.

He swished his hand sideways, cutting through his illusion of Gungnir. It disappeared in a green fog. Something drew his eye down to his hand—to weathered skin, not his own.

All at once, he stood there, unmoving and transfixed. All at once, an overwhelming heaviness fell on him and filled him, like stones sitting in his stomach. Slowly, he turned his hands before his eyes, studying every crease, every crinkle, and scar he had memorized since youth...

When he was a young lad, he used to run up to his father, reach up, and take hold of his father's hand. He'd hang on, for as long as he was permitted to. He'd hang on and wait and watch, hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse, or a smile—or just a twinkle in his father's eye.

The few words his father ever spoke to edify his second-born son, Loki locked up, as treasures in his heart. They came scarcely. They were those nuggets of praise he lived for—starving for.

So what if those moments were rare? He could still remember the feeling—the touch of his father's hand, wrapped around his. Odin's grip was steady, strong, and warm. His palms were calloused and rough. But on the outside, his hands were oily and soft to the touch...

In a flash, Loki's hands changed.

He no longer saw Odin's hands. He saw his own pale, thin fingers...

Covered completely in a thick coat of fresh, crimson blood.

His eyes flew wide, his heart slamming into his ribs.

The blood trickled down his wrists, and dripped onto the floor.

He breathed hard...

Then his vision flashed again.

All traces of blood vanished, and his hands once again turned into Odin's.

For a long moment, Loki stood in place without moving, as he slowly regained his breath.

Then he let out a shaky sigh, and curled his fingers into fists, as he slowly lowered his arms.

He dropped the illusion.

It trickled away in flashes of green, starting at his fingers and ending at his feet.

He released another sigh, overcome with heaviness once more. Slumping his shoulders, he hung his hands limply to his sides, as his gaze fell to the floor.

He felt tangled up—completely knotted inside.

Lost.

And alone.

"Goodness, Loki," Amora exclaimed behind him. "You're in an unusual mood this eve. What is wrong?"

Upon exhale, his shoulders slumped even further. His fingers loosened.

"Everything," he replied. Then again, in a whisper: "Everything."

Heels clicked against stone. She drew closer to him. He unconsciously straightened when she came up in his peripheral—his gaze remaining on the floor.

"Chin up, dear," she cooed, stepping up close. "Things could be a lot worse."

He glanced over at her, and lifted his brow.

"Really. How so?"

She glanced around.

"You could be back in prison."

He let out a huff, shook his head, and looked away.

"I've grown weary of this...illusion. It is naught, but another prison."

She snorted, folding her arms.

"A rather gilded...cushiony prison, don't you think?"

"A prison, nonetheless," he replied gravelly as he stepped past her, striding towards the balcony.

He needed air.

Rounding the pool, he climbed up the stairs, two steps at a time, passed under the arches, and crossed the threshold, stepping out into the sun.

At last, he could breathe.

Ocean wind pierced his frame—salty. His tailcoats flapped in the wind, his black hair whipping in front of his eyes. He took a step towards the rim of the balcony. Parched vines clung onto the railing, in dire need of water and care, their flowers withered from weeks of neglect. The floral scent he inhaled came not from these vines. It swept in from the gardens below.

With tentative fingers, he reached out, and held one of the withered flowers, examining its dry petals. Instantly, he remembered something his mother had once taught him. The flower's meaning...

It signified: _Brotherhood._

Despite the way he carefully handled the petals, they had become too fragile. They crunched, falling apart in his hand.

The dead flower snapped from its vine and fell at his feet as he withdrew his hand.

His frame became stiff for a moment.

Breathing in deeply, he tried to ignore the way his gut began filling with rocks again.

He glanced up, gazing out beyond the Queen's gardens and the fields of green below, towards the city.

It glowed, every spire reflecting the sun's fiery light with brilliance. Past the city gates, the eternal mountains stood guard, and the rainbow bridge stretched across the glittering sea.

He lifted his eyes. The radiant light of a thousand stars greeted him, shining their light down on him, reminding him of the legends of the spirits who have gone on before, who look down from above, from their seats in the _true_ realm eternal.

As another gust of wind blew in from the sea, he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a knot climb in his throat.

He opened his eyes again, and searched the stars with fogging eyes, mentally asking—begging for a word, a vision, or a sign.

If only he could hear her voice, in the wind, perhaps...

He waited, and listened. For something. For anything.

The wind died down, and the stars stood still.

Nothing came.

A chill descend. The sun had lowered over the mountains, and over the horizon, ushering in the cool of night.

He now stood in the shade of the palace spires. The shadows stretched, lengthening across the city. Night was falling. Soon, everything would be darkened...

"Loki," a whisper came from behind him.

He lifted his head, picking up the faint _clip clop_ of footsteps coming up from behind.

"The curse has burdened thee...made thee weary," she said. "I can see that. I know. I understand, how...even a man such as you...must desire comfort."

Loki felt the skin of his neck tingle. Suddenly, he felt something brush his sleeve.

He instinctively flinched, as fingers folded around his arm.

Growing stiff, he moved a foot and turned, glancing down at her...

Her head came up to his chin. She was now facing him, her eyes on his breastplate, her hand stroking his sleeve, as if to comfort him. She softened her tone.

"You know..." she whispered now, her lips curving up, her eyes meeting his eyes. "There is nothing wrong with solitude. But there is nothing wrong with _partnership,_ either."

His gut twisted and alarm bells rang in his head, but his feet wouldn't move, as her eyes flitted from his eyes to his mouth.

He remained stiff. He didn't know what to do, staring at her blankly as her hand slid up his arm to his shoulder. She stepped up to him, her face coming inches away from his. He could smell her breath now—musty like wine.

"Loki..." she whispered silkily. "When is the last time someone offered you any sort of release...any sort of comfort...?"

Her hand lifted from his shoulder, and went up for his cheek.

His eyes widened.

Inhaling sharply, he drew back with a twist of his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" he breathed.

She lowered her hands to her sides, batting her eyes like an innocent.

"Nothing!" she laughed at him. "Why? What were you imagining?"

His gut twisted further.

"Don't lie to me, Amora," he shot back, his hands clenching. "You know _precisely_ what you were doing."

She snickered at him.

"You're imagining things."

"Oh, am I?"

"Yes!"

He thinned his eyes and shook his head.

"You are utterly shameless."

With a look of disgust, he spun away, and stormed off, leaving her to stare after him from the edge of the balcony.

He did not look back as he left the chamber, silently steaming, his blood boiling and his stomach tightened in knots.

VVV

Jane had a dream last night.

She dreamt she was in Asgard.

It was a recurring dream that started two weeks ago...

The day Thor left, for good.

It was strange, though. She never bumped into Thor in her dreams—not once.

There she'd be, standing underneath the shining, golden spires in breathless wonder; strolling by the sparkling rivers, and the rainbow bridge; gazing up at the vast sky, with constellations she needed to study, and memorize, but would never get to, because she'd always wake up feeling empty, realizing it was only in a dream she'd ever revisit that place...

And only when she'd wake would she realize that Thor was absent from the dream, which always made her feel...

Bad.

What made it even worse was the fact that in the dream...she never went looking for him. She never even thought about him.

How could she've forgotten him, so easily? So soon?

It was bizarre—crazy—that in her dreams, she had somehow managed to erase him from Asgard. The two seemed inseparable, entwined in her subconscious...

Thor and Asgard.

They should be one and the same. Asgard was Thor's realm—not hers.

But now, it was gone—she told herself that.

She also told herself it was for the best.

Presently the summer breeze blew against her. She breathed it in, and slowly exhaled.

She hated to admit it...but ever since Thor had left...she actually found herself breathing easier.

Leaning against the backrest of the park bench where she sat, she squinted up through the cedars, at the bright, afternoon sky and the sun piercing through the clouds, taking in another deep breath.

What had started off as a rainy morning turned out to be a perfectly sunny, warm day. She had put on her red rain boots this morning, but probably wouldn't be needing them any longer. If it got any warmer this afternoon, she'd probably need to take off her jacket and her scarf and stuff them in her satchel—she hoped she could make them fit.

Glancing down, she checked her wristwatch, reading the time...

_12:47pm._

_ He should be finishing his lecture, any moment now._

As if on cue, Jane heard the sound of doors being unbarred. The bustle of chattering students followed, as they poured out of the science hall—carrying books, backpacks, and phones—from the side entrance, descending down the flight of steps towards her.

They passed the park bench where she sat, and dispersed across the campus grounds in a hurry, most likely heading to their next classes.

Jane sat up taller, just so she could see past the students' heads—she wanted to spot Erik the moment he appeared.

Then a navy-blue vest caught her eye.

She perked up, squinting through the crowd. A brown leather messenger bag also came into view, along with a familiar, weathered face.

She slung her bag over her shoulder, stood up, and waved.

"Erik!" she called, hoping to get his attention.

After a few more seconds of waving, he finally turned his head, spotting her.

"Hello, Jane!" he replied, smiling broadly as he started down the steps, grabbing the hand railing.

Jane wove through the crowd of students to reach the base of the steps, where Erik met her with a warm hug.

"So good to see you! How've you been?"

"Oh...pretty good," she said, showing him a smile, as she gave his arm a squeeze and broke away. "You're enjoying your new job?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, yes," he answered, coming beside her, and strolling with her down the path towards the wooded park. "It's going very well. The students are a bright bunch. And they seem to like me. At least they don't complain to my face! It really is good to be back. I can't imagine working anywhere else."

"That's so good, Erik," she smiled. "I'm happy for you. If not slightly jealous. Maybe someday I'll be able to come back as a professor, too."

"You could, you know! I know _plenty_ of people who would give you a solid recommendation, if you wanted to apply," he said, nudging her arm with his elbow.

"Maybe," she chuckled. "Maybe someday..."

"But what about you?" he asked, his expression turning a bit more serious. "Have you come to a decision, yet...? Last time we talked you were still tossing several options around..."

"Yeah, about that..." she cringed slightly, glancing down at her boots. "Unfortunately—to make room for my plans—I had to cancel my flight to Stockholm."

"You did?" his voice quieted. "Is that what you really want to do? I would've thought you'd want to be _there,_ when they present you with the award!"

"Yeah..." she sighed. "If I was certain they'd give me the award? I might make every effort to make it. But after doing a bit of research on the nominees...I decided it's not worth the effort. Also, I don't know what it's been...but I just haven't been in the mood for much...social interaction, lately."

They walked in silence for a moment, their shoes pattering against the stone sidewalk, before Erik asked, carefully:

"I hope it's not because of what happened with _him_?"

Jane glanced up at him, and saw his look of fathering concern. She shrugged, and shook her head side to side.

"No...it's not really because of that," she denied, thinning her mouth. "I mean...in a way, it sorta is. You _know_ how I was...how I felt, after he left. I was practically a mess. I spiraled, just like before, for days. I was angry. I was upset—upset with myself, more than anything—that I had gotten my hopes up high again. But this time, I knew he was not coming back. I also knew I had to move on, and process this better than I did the last time we 'broke up.'"

"Thor seemed like a decent man," Erik replied, frowning. "But he was also seemed a bit dense. Especially for you. You deserve someone better—someone more reliable, and at your level."

"Thanks, Erik," she replied with a smile. Then she sighed, lifting her gaze towards the fluttering leaves of the trees. "It's not that I didn't like him. I really did. But I'm not so sure anymore, if we were the perfect match we were_ trying_ so hard to be. And I can't really blame him if he saw that we weren't good for each other. I just sorta wish I could've been the one...to see it first."

"It's possible, you just needed more time to get to know each other," he pondered. "He made quite an impression on you—on all of us, when he first crash-landed into our lives."

"Yeah," Jane chuckled, shaking her head. "He sure did. He turned _my_ world upside down, that's for sure. He opened so many doors for me—sparked fresh dreams in me, reviving old ones I long forgot existed." She sighed again. "But he also sorta dashed my dreams. He left me, again—a third time! I will admit, though...I felt it coming. I was a bit less surprised...and oddly, a bit..._relieved._ I don't know why. But I've taken a bunch of walks lately—done a lot of thinking, and reflecting. And I've come to the conclusion, that..." She bit her lip, pausing. Then she inhaled an unsteady breath, declaring: "...that I never, _truly,_ fell in love with him. That I fell in love, more with the_ idea_ of him...rather than the man he really was." She glanced over at him doubtfully. "Does that make _any_ sense, at all?"

"It makes perfect sense," Erik assured her. "He was a god, straight from myth—larger than life."

"And maybe that's why I've been hanging on, so _tightly_ to him..." she realized. "He was my knight in shining armor...complete with his own castle in a fairytale realm, that suddenly became _real._ But in many ways, I fell hard for an_ illusion. _It's not that he wasn't a good man. I mean...I still respect him. It's just that he and I didn't seem to click. We couldn't connect. His world is so far removed from mine...I doubt he felt at home with me, either."

"You two were born in separate worlds," Erik agreed. "Perhaps they were separate for a reason."

"Mhm."

They came upon a crossroads in the sidewalk. The path on the left wove through a shady thicket. The right path cut through a wide open green, where the students congregated and studied on the grass.

They went left.

The path dipped down, and became more uneven. Jane pulled her hands out of her pockets, to steady herself.

"I dunno. It's still hard," she admitted, quieting her tone. "I keep having these dreams."

"Oh?" Erik asked, watching her as he listened.

"Yeah. Every night, for the past week, I've had this dream...that I'm in Asgard, by myself. I walk around the city, see the golden skyscrapers, walk through the palace, and gaze at the stars for hours and hours. The dream is so vivid. It feels so real while I'm in there... Gosh, I wish you could've seen that place, Erik. It's like no place on earth."

"I'm sure," Erik nodded. "But I can't imagine it making it any easier to forget about him...when he pops into your dreams each night."

"Actually," she chuckled. "That's the oddest part! Thor never enters my dreams. Only when I wake up do I realize, that he never was there, and that I never even looked for him! I never want the dream to end...but he's never there. Isn't that odd?"

"Hm," Erik mused, "That's interesting. Do you think the dream means anything?"

"I don't know! I don't think so..." She glanced over at him, her mouth working a few times, before she asked: "Why? Do _you_ think it means something?"

"Well..." he tilted his head towards his shoulder. "Sounds to me like Asgard is the thing you continue to miss the most. Losing Thor was bad. But losing Asgard—all your dreams—was even worse."

Jane's eyelashes fluttered, a lightbulb suddenly going off in her head.

"So, you mean to say..." she spoke slowly. "That, all this time...I might've been more in love with _Asgard_...than I ever was with Thor?"

"Not...literally, of course," he clarified. "But I do remember all those sleepless nights you spent at your desk, poring over those star charts and all that data...hoping you'd find the wormhole to that distant realm. You poured two years worth of work into that dream. It meant more to you than a person you got to know, for three days. It was your entire life, leading up to this one discovery."

Jane's mouth worked. She could hardly formulate a response, her eyelashes still fluttering.

"Wow. You're actually...totally right." Then her brow twisted, her gut suddenly feeling heavy. "Gosh. I hope that doesn't mean I was using him, to get what I wanted."

"No! Of course not," he assured her, then added with a wry smile: "Not...on purpose, anyway."

"Great..." she laughed quietly. "I'm a horrible person..."

"Not at all, Jane. Not at all." He slowed his step a bit, and gave her a pat on the shoulder, meeting her eye. "When you two crossed paths, he had the answers you always sought. You and him are amiable people...so you genuinely got along. But that's the way of relationships...they only work out when it's meant to work out."

She smirked sadly.

"He one time told me, that he thought we met for a reason."

"And perhaps you did," Erik supposed. "But I'm proud of you for deciding it's time to move on."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I guess it's time for me to find a new dream. Which can be exciting and scary and liberating, all at once."

"Yes. Let your passion drive you, as it always has done."

"You're right..."

Suddenly a thought hit her, making her stop in her tracks.

"Oh, Erik!" she exclaimed, touching his arm. She reached over and unlatched the flap of her satchel at her side, and dug through it. "I have something for you."

"You do?"

"Mhm..."

After her hand located it, she pulled it out, and held it up to him: a green, hardbound book. The Snorre's Edda. His mythology book.

"Oh...my mythology book!" he said.

"Yes," she replied, handing it to him. "Thanks for letting me borrow it. I got a lot of use out of it—even read it with Thor, before he left. So, hidden in its pages...you'll find the flowers that he left me, pressed in there. A memento of that chapter of my life, I guess."

"Oh, Jane." He lifted his eyes from the cover, and pressed his lips together. Then he handed the book back to her. "Keep it."

"No, no...it's a part of your collection!" she stopped him with her hand.

"Believe me...it'd only get lost in my collection, anyway, collecting more dust." He offered it to her again. "Go on. Take it."

"But..." she shook her head, "I know just how much it means to you."

"It means much more to you now," he insisted, with a nod. "I want you to have it."

With a sigh, she gave up and gratefully received it from him.

"Thanks. Thanks so much!" She gripped it with both hands. "I'll treasure it always."

Stuffing the book back into her bag, with care, she sighed contentedly, before they started down the path again.

"You know," she said, her gaze going distant. "I do wish I had one last chance to speak with him, if only to have closure. I would want to tell him that I wish him the best. I'd want to thank him for saving me from the Aether. But most of all, I'd want to apologize, for the way I acted both in Asgard, and once we were back here, on earth."

"Why should _you_ be the one to apologize?" Erik questioned. "I should think if anyone needs to apologize...it would be him!"

"Maybe. All I know is that when I was in Asgard, I was so scared, and so focused on how the circumstances were affecting me...that I completely forgot common courtesy, when I was around him, and his family. I was rude to his father. I was short with his mother. And I punched his brother the moment I saw him. And two of them later died to save my life."

"His brother?" Erik asked. "You mean the war criminal who turned my brain to mush?" He laughed. "Not gonna lie...it's a relief to know that he's no longer around to cause any more havoc."

Jane bit her lower lip, hesitating in her response.

"Yeah...I know. He did some terrible things. But he also saved my life, the day that he died—the day Thor lost _two _family members. His mother and his brother. People he's known his entire life, which is a _really_ long time—a thousand years, at least. I can't even imagine. Still. I, of all people, should've been able to sympathize with him, in his loss. I-I know what it's like, you know... But instead of opening up to him, I kept closed. Maybe I wouldn't be able to apologize for that. But I still regret it, nonetheless."

"I'm sure your company is exactly what he needed, Jane. Sometimes when people grieve, they don't need words. They just need someone to listen to them, without judging them. Just listening. You do that well. I'm sure, he is grateful for that."

"Thanks. I really hope so."

"You're an empathic person, Jane...just like your father." Erik's voice softened. "And I know he would be very proud of you, if he were still here—very proud of the kind, strong, insightful woman you have become. I know I sure am."

Her heart swelled.

She looked over at him, a smile forming, her eyes a bit watery.

"Thank you, Erik. That sure means a lot to me."

Her smile faltered. And she had to clear her throat, before she could speak again, ducking her head. "I'm sure going to miss your company...once I move."

His brow shot upward.

"You're moving...?"

"Yes," she shrugged a shoulder. "For my new job."

"Why, that's wonderful, Jane! Where to?"

"New York," she explained. "I decided to take up Tony Stark on his offer. I'm going to be one of the heads of his new research facility."

"Oh, wow! Sounds fantastic—like a fantastic opportunity. When do you start?"

"Next week."

"Oh wow...that's soon."

Jane cringed a bit. "I know. But he's providing me with one of his private jets. He told me to phone him when I'm all packed...which I almost am."

"Well, I'm very happy for you, Jane," he said, deepening his tone. "I only hope this doesn't mean you're going to be running into your _ex_ anytime soon."

"Oh, gosh, I hope not..." she gritted her teeth. "Though...I might welcome a bit of much-needed closure, if he ever does."

"True," Erik granted. "Though, I may want to warn you: Thor may be the least of your worries, with that Stark fellow, and those other superheroes hanging around. I'm not saying you should turn them down, if they try to ask you out for a drink. I'm only saying that they just might. Especially that Stark fellow—he has quite a reputation that precedes him."

"Oh yes, I know," she rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Erik. I don't think I'm getting back into the dating scene, anytime soon. The research will keep me busy."

She laughed to herself, kicking her boots.

"Besides, I think I've discovered...that superheroes are definitely not my type."

VVV

Asgard's cosmic sky had darkened, glittered now with the bright evening stars.

Loki's boots made a _thump_ as he dismounted Odin's royal chariot, landing on the flashing crystals of the rainbow bridge, which hummed lowly beneath his feet. Ocean waves crashed against the rocks below, and sea gulls crooned as they flew overhead.

Stepping away from the chariot, Loki turned and spoke to the driver, projecting Odin's voice:

"Wait here."

The guard nodded, and Loki turned, facing the Bifrost at the end of the bridge.

Mentally, he double-checked his cloaking spell, and reinforced it.

Then he inhaled deeply through his nose...

And started in that direction, with Gungnir in hand.

He strode forward with conviction, but not too briskly, knowing that he must emulate Odin's posture, and speed, as he approached the golden observatory—where Heimdall awaited him.

Loki slowed to a halt, before he crossed into the domed chamber. His eyes had landed on the gatekeeper while he was still approaching from a distance. The gatekeeper stood still as a statue, with his back turned, on the other side of the chamber, his gaze focused out across the universe of stars. Through the glassless, fretted window, his gaze stretched beyond what the naked eye could see.

Before Loki even made a noise, or spoke up, Heimdall acknowledged his king's presence.

"Good evening, my Lord," he said, without turning or moving.

Loki was never surprised that he could never sneak up on the gatekeeper. He practically had eyes on the back of his head.

Stepping further inside, Loki came to a stop not too far from the entrance, and landed Gungnir on the ground, with a thud that resonated through the chamber.

"You requested an audience with me?" he spoke as the All-Father.

"Yes," Heimdall replied in bass-tones. "I did."

Loki waited for the reason, but the gatekeeper did not add to that. He just stayed silent.

Adjusting his grip on Gungir, Loki suppressed an exasperated sigh, and asked instead:

"I...trust you have been keeping watch over those stones?"

"Yes. Faithfully," Heimdall replied plainly.

Then he dipped his head, and slowly began to turn. He faced Loki half-way, his hands resting on the hilt of his golden sword.

"They appear to be safe, and stationery. None have left the nine realms, or escaped my watch. As of yet."

"Good," Loki nodded. "And, how fares Thor? My son?"

Heimdall didn't respond right away.

He first turned, until he eventually faced Loki.

Then he lifted his chin.

"I do not keep track of the Odinson's activity," he reminded him. "My orders were to eye the points on the map you entrusted me with, and those points alone." His orange eyes bore into Loki—suddenly, seemingly, shooting straight through him. "But I can certainly broaden my focus...and see what I have willfully ignored, if you so desire it, my King."

Loki pressed his lips together, and allowed a pause before he spoke.

"No, Heimdall. Stay at your post, on your task. The ravens that currently keep watch over Thor should be sufficient."

"Very well, my king."

Loki lifted Gungnir an inch from the ground.

"Now. If that will be all..." he said, beginning to turn away.

"Actually," Heimdall said, stopping Loki. "There is the matter which I hoped to address."

"Ah, yes. Well? What is it?"

Loki drummed his fingers on Gungnir, while Heimdall took an age to speak again.

The gatekeeper paced slowly to one side, his fiery eyes falling to the floor.

"My King, I must report an act of disloyalty—an act of defiant disobedience against the crown."

Loki swallowed. Outwardly, he remained steady.

"Whose?"

Heimdall went still, and dipped his head.

"Mine."

Loki's eyebrows drew up.

Heimdall breathed a low sigh.

"I disobeyed the king's orders. I was to watch over the infinity stones, both day and night, without ceasing. Yet, something caught my attention: a flare of dark energy. I drew my focus towards the palace, and caught a glimpse...of some shadow, before it hid from my sight. Nevertheless...I disobeyed the king, outright. Therefore, I will not resist whatever punishment falls upon me, for my blatant misdemeanor."

Loki thinned his lips, then sighed, waving his hand.

"It's alright, gatekeeper," Loki acquitted him. "I shall overlook this small misstep."

Heimdall lifted his head, his mouth slightly parted. Then he closed his lips, and gave his king a nod.

"Thank you, sire."

"Now..." Loki hesitated, narrowing his eyes. "What is this shadow...you think you saw?"

The gatekeeper drew in a prolonged breath.

"It was probably nothing, your excellency."

"Tell me...what you saw," Loki insisted.

Heimdall's jaw flexed. He started to step slowly, into the center of the room. Loki's heart started to pound, the closer Heimdall got—but he stood his ground.

"I cannot say what the shadow was. It fled my sight before I could catch a good glimpse. But shortly thereafter, something else drew my eye, that gave me cause for concern. I...do not wish to question thy choice in your newly-appointed helper, the enchantress, but..." The gatekeeper halted, a few yards away from Loki, and rested the tip of his sword on the floor. "...it would be remiss of me, if I did not share some of my suspicions, regarding her activities."

"Oh?" Loki asked, tightening his grip around Gungnir. "What sort of suspicions?"

"Well," Heimdall's gaze wandered off. "I saw her wandering alone in the archives—"

"The archives?" Loki inquired. "When was this?"

"Two...or three days ago," Heimdall answered. "And...it surprised me, not only to see her trying to gain access to the vaulted area of the archives...but also to sense her humming to herself, aloud. She even spoke to herself aloud." Heimdall shook his head once. "She is not mute, as she claims to be, my king."

Loki breathed, and rolled his shoulders back.

"I know. In fact, it was I who gave her permission not to speak to anyone in the court. She is a shy creature, with an uncultured tongue. I did it as a favor to her. And..." he sighed, pacing a step in the opposite direction of Heimdall. "As for her activities in the archives...she had my permission to be there."

In truth, that was not the case. In truth, the news of Amora's secret excursions made Loki's blood boil. But he remained cool and composed, externally, for the gatekeeper's eye.

"But thank you, Heimdall, for addressing your concerns," Loki went on. "Your loyalty never goes unnoticed. Now if that will be all..." Loki clutched Gungnir, and angled himself towards the rainbow bridge. "I should retire for the night."

"Certainly, my lord," Heimdall nodded. Then he added, in a strange, deliberate tone... "Rest well."

Loki squinted one eye while studying the gatekeeper. He nodded.

"I shall."

Then he spun away, and was just about to leave, when he had a thought.

"Oh. And one more thing..." he spoke, over his shoulder. "If Thor should request to return...alert me immediately. I should want to be the first to greet my son...when he eventually returns."

VVV

Night had fallen.

Loki paced the floors of the healing chamber, with his hands folded behind his back.

Releasing a yawn, he paused his step and eyed the hourglass sitting on the desk by the doubledoors, underneath the shelves of potion ingredients. The grains of sand trickled down in a thin stream, the collected sand indicating the late hour.

He sighed gruffly, pacing again from one end of the room to the other, and back—watching the door like a hawk.

_Where could she be?_

The guards had informed him: she wasn't in her bedchamber. He had ordered them to search for her, nearly an hour ago.

Spinning again on his heel, he paced around the examination table, wondering internally if he should summon the guards again, and have them check the dungeons—see if Amora had decided to sneak down there without permission to pay a visit to her sister...

Loki's muscles ached, and his eyes were beginning to ache. All the palace—the entire city—had likely retired to bed by now. But this was when he and Amora worked. And she was late.

_What if she isn't coming?_

Loki bit the inside of his cheek, halting.

He hadn't considered the possibility. But it wouldn't surprise him, if she had decided to up and leave the realm altogether—despite their work not being finished...

But, no.

He shook his head, denying the possibility...

When he became aware of a twinge of pain, in his right hand.

It shot up his arm, and made his shoulder hitch up from the pain. He winced, glancing down at the mark on his hand.

He stared at it for a moment, then dropped his hand with a shudder. His vision blurred for a moment, before sharpening as he lifted his eyes...

When he landed his gaze on the wall across the room, his eyes widened.

There was writing on the wall.

Large, jagged letters—ancient runes—scrawled across the golden wall, incised like giant claw marks. And each letter appeared to be dripping with blood—_black_ blood.

Loki's heart hammered, a tingle starting up his spine...

The runes spelled out four words:

_I'M COMING FOR YOU._

Loki stopped breathing.

His throat closed, as his heart slammed against his ribs, his fingers now trembling.

He took a staggered step back, his eyes widening further and further...

Then he blinked. And the words disappeared, without a trace.

A gasp escaped him. He searched the empty wall with a frantic gaze, opening and closing his eyes—_had he _imagined_ it?_

No, he swore—he swore he had seen it...

His heart continued to thump wildly, as he hesitantly came closer to the wall, inspecting it. As he came close, he swore he felt a chill—a breath on his neck.

He swirled around, and scanned the room, panting hard.

Nobody there.

For a long while, he stood there, breathing hard in a spread stance, listening...

Eventually, he froze.

He heard footsteps, approaching—coming down the hallway.

Unable to move—or scarcely even breathe—he didn't have a chance to duck, hide, or throw up his illusion, before the double doors flew open, without warning.

Loki sucked in a quick breath, his shoulders hitching up and his fingers spreading with magic ready at their tips, as he stumbled back—

Amora came barging in.

She strode in, casually, with a smirk on her lips.

Loki shot a glance into the empty hall, and barely relaxed his shoulders when he saw no-one had seen him. She flicked her hand, and the doors responded with a groan, shutting behind her as she strode towards the desk. She unslung her satchel from her shoulder, and dumped it on the table, humming under her breath like nothing.

His jaw tightened.

As soon as the doors latched, locking, he spoke.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed. "Trying to get us both killed?!"

"Calm yourself," she chortled, glancing over her shoulder at him. "There were no guards around..."

"Still," he grunted, crossing his arms. "Where've you been, all this time?"

"Out."

"_Where?_" he demanded through his teeth.

"Oh," she waved a hand dismissively. "All over the place. The kitchen. The archives. Must've lost track of time—"

"Have I not _specifically_ ordered you _not _to enter the archives without my permission?" he asked, making fists as he lowered his arms.

"I needed the fresh air," she told him, her fingers playing with the necklace on her collar. She turned with her hip, and faced him. "That's all! You really don't trust me?"

He stared at her, with a hardened brow—didn't answer.

She rolled her eyes.

"You'll soon _thank_ me, once you hear what it is I found."

"What?" he asked, tone flat.

The corners of her lips curved upward.

"The cure."

Loki lifted one of his eyebrows.

"You have."

"I have."

"Then prove it."

"...Gladly."

She spun away, and faced the desk littered with spellbooks, and quickly pulled forth a thick, brown leather book from her satchel, landing it on the table with a _thud,_ that sent dust flying everywhere.

She started to flip through its aged pages, and he strolled closer to the desk, peeking over her shoulder...

"These potion recipes were banned—_blacklisted—_and hid in the vaulted section of the archives," Amora explained, in a hurried whisper. "Probably because of all those foolish amateurs who failed to decipher the ancient tongue correctly, and consequently made grave mistakes. But it'd be impossible for one as skilled and experienced as I to make similar blunders."

"Hm," Loki frowned, tapping the edge of the table with his fingers. "These potions usually require recipes that are impossibly hard to acquire."

"I already checked," she said, flipping almost all the way to the end of the book. "And we have everything we need. It calls for fairy ashes, bark of the life trees from Vanaheim, and the nectar from the rare blood flowers of Ria."

"Alright then. Let's see the recipe."

"Patience," she growled. Flipping back a couple of pages, she finally landed on the spread. "Aha. Here it is."

The recipe was written in scribbly runes. The ink hadn't faded too much, despite the book's age. A thin, red border lined the pages. There were no illustrations, or diagrams.

Loki leaned forward a bit, squinting his eyes. He found it hard to focus on the dense paragraphs. He was tired, and the runes were small.

Thankfully, she proceeded to summarize for him.

"The potion is said, to be the cure for any kind of curse—the antidote for the most ancient of hexes, and unrelenting forms of black magic. It says...the magic is ancient, and thorough. It should dispel all traces of any curse residing in your blood—like a full-system flush."

"Will it hurt, is the question..." Loki muttered lowly.

"It might. It might not." She glanced over at him. "Your call."

He glanced off, towards the empty golden walls and made a sigh.

"We're running out of time," he said, drumming the table more quickly. "We've _got_ to finish this."

"Alright then...hand me that jar up there, and I'll mix it up in no time."

He reached up and grabbed the jar she was pointing at, handing it to her.

Soon she had all the ingredient bottles in a line. She triple-checked the instructions, the measurements, and the ingredients, before crossing the room and starting the fire underneath the cauldron.

Loki paced across the room, to the examination table, and leaned back against it, folding his arms as he watched Amora work. She hummed to herself, using an urn to dump water into the cauldron. The fire underneath it began to blaze, and in a few minutes, steam was rising to the ceiling. The water began to burble. Amora crossed the room again, and used the copper urn to transfer ingredients from their jars to the steaming concoction.

Back and forth she went, and occasionally, she'd stir the mixture with a ladle.

More and more, Loki found himself growing detached, his gaze wandering toward the wall on the opposite side of the room. The gold panels were empty, just as always.

But he swallowed, and his skin crawled as he mentally pictured the words that had appeared scrawled upon them...

_I'M COMING FOR YOU._

Rocks filled his stomach, and his tongue felt dry again.

Then a furl of black fabric entered the peripheral of his vision, and he quickly adjusted his stance.

Amora strode across the room, up to him, with a vial full of glittery, black liquid in her hand. She extended it out to him.

Just as he was about to take it, she swiftly retracted her arm, pulling the potion close to her chest.

"What will you give me for it?" she asked.

Loki looked at her.

"Nothing," he snapped, holding his palm out. "Now hand it over."

"_What_ will you give me for it?" she came again.

She was being serious.

"How about your _sister..._?" he countered, lowering his hand.

"Besides her," she clarified. "I was thinking...some bags of gold, perhaps...?"

"Oh, so you don't want your sister back?" he smiled, re-folding his arms.

"I did not say that," she shot back. "I'm merely requesting a bit of a bonus, for me, and my sister. You can't just expect us to leave Asgard empty-handed."

"You are getting your sister back, and _that's it,_" Loki maintained.

"My. You are a stubborn one..." She lifted the potion to her eyes, and shook her head. "Very well. I just thought...what are a couple of bags of gold, next to the cure that just might save your life? The cure I hold in my hand...?"

"Fine. Have the gold," he acquiesced. "Now give it to me."

"_That's_ more like it..." she murmured, extending her arm.

He yanked the vial from her, and glanced down through the neck of the bottle, to the thick liquid. Swirling it, he checked for impurities.

Once he detected none, he took a quick glance at Amora, as if to say,_ this had better work,_ before lifting the rim to his lips, and drinking.

The concoction fizzled and stung on his tongue, tasting of black coals.

He screwed his eyes and shook his head as he swallowed; it burned the back of his throat as it went down.

Opening his eyes, he looked into the glass vial again. It was now half-empty.

"That should do the trick," Amora said. "Now we wait."

Loki set the potion aside, on the examination table. He breathed in deeply, and began to take a mental check of how he was feeling, moment to moment, ready for the potion to kick in, and manifest itself in whatever way—at any moment.

They both remained standing still. She, with her arms crossed. And he, leaning back against the table, eventually drumming the edge with his fingers.

"Nothing's happening," he muttered, after a long silence.

"Be patient," she returned.

Loki sighed and shifted his weight, tipping to one side, just a bit, when he did.

All of a sudden, he felt just a bit light-headed.

"Hm..." he murmured, gripping the edge of the table with both hands now. "I'm feeling something now..."

"Oh! That's good," she said.

"Feeling a bit..." Loki breathed in tightly. "Strange."

Just then, his stomach flipped.

He let out a groan, clutching his stomach, as a wave of nausea swept over him. He groaned again.

"Goodness! Are you alright?" Amora asked, sounding concerned. But she didn't move.

"I don't know," he answered, as the room began to spin...

"Maybe the minor discomfort will pass..." she offered. "You may want to sit, or lie down..."

"I'm fine," he whispered, now breathing heavily, and clutching the table with one hand.

"Don't look like it," she said, taking a step forward. "Here, let me help you—"

"Don't touch me!" he hissed, swatting her hand away.

"Sorry..." she chuckled, keeping her hands up. "Just don't drop dead, alright? Take deep breaths."

He tried.

But when his stomach flipped again, he couldn't control it. A second later, a stabbing pain went through his gut. He lurched, bending forward with a gasp, holding his stomach. His vision began to blur.

"Amora!" he growled. "What did you do to me...?" His stomach spasmed, and he gasped, staggering. "Oh, norns! Oh, norns..."

Then bile rushed up his throat.

He bent over, and gagged—dry heaving.

The pain in his middle was becoming unbearable. But he couldn't empty his stomach.

Forcing himself to swallow, he lifted his head, finding himself unable to keep his eyes open. His head reeled, and the room was spinning. So he pressed his eyes shut, and held onto the table for dear life.

Then his stomach flipped again, and the pain in his gut turned into fire.

He could no longer take it.

His knees buckled, and he crumbled.

He dropped onto one knee. His hands felt along the edge of the table, but his vision was all a-blur. He couldn't stand anymore.

"Amora!" he shouted, blindly. "Stop standing there, like a useless fool! _Do_ something!"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" she replied helplessly.

"I don't know! Anything!_" _he growled, sinking down to both knees. "You're an enchantress, aren't you...? Get a healing stone! Quickly!"

Another shooting pain through his middle.

He fell, with his back against the table, hissing through his teeth.

All he could feel now, was the pain in his gut. Every other sense dulled. All he could focus on was the simple task of breathing—in short, labored gasps. Then his heart rate began to slow, his muscles losing more and more strength, every second.

Head spinning, his stomach tightening to the point of agony, he felt himself sink all the way to the floor, where he curled up, wrapped his around tightly around his middle, and rocked himself unconsciously.

Another stab, like a knife, went through his belly.

He tried to scream.

But he found that his lips hadn't moved. He couldn't even formulate words.

All he did was groan, as he ground his teeth.

Then a convulsion racked his body. He writhed in choked silence, blinded, and overwhelmed by the pain.

Once it had passed, he found himself lying on his back, with tears in the edges of his eyes, still full of pain.

Then he felt a hand grip one of his shoulders.

It tugged, and with very little effort at all—flipped him over, onto his back.

"Hold still," came Amora's voice. He couldn't unscrew his eyes, but he sensed her shadow, leaning over him. He heard a crumbling noise. Then he sensed a green flash, beyond his closed eyelids. "This will probably hurt," she told him.

Another hand landed on his breastplate, on top of his heart. Heat, like fire, poured past his armor, seeping through his shirt and skin, before settling into his chest.

A gasp tore through his throat, as the fiery heat filled him, a fever taking hold. The searing pain in his gut was replaced with a new kind of pain, which spread like coals through his veins. His heart pounded like never before, faster and faster—his chest constricting painfully.

The heat passed, in a flash. Instead, chills ran up and down his body. He shivered, even as sweat trickled down his face and his neck. Then again, fire consumed his every limb, his body temperature flipping to the other extreme at the flip of a switch.

"Gahh!" he gasped, gritting his teeth, as every blood vessel throbbed—the vessels in his neck pounding in his skull, to the point where he thought they might burst.

Suddenly, a lump colder than ice, deep inside his gut—overturned.

A violent shudder ran through his spine.

Then he went completely limp, his head falling back against the hard floor, left numb from all the pain that suddenly lifted from him.

As he inhaled and exhaled, more evenly, he felt his blood pressure slow...

And slow...

And _slow..._

His body temperature stabilized, returning to neutral.

Tilting his head, he opened his eyes.

The room had darkened.

He blinked, and frowned.

The fire in the room burned red.

Then he heard a heavy _clatter, _of brassy metal hitting the floor.

He turned his head to the left, in the direction of the noise...

And saw someone standing there, across the room, frozen. An empty brass urn rolled and came to rest at their feet.

Amora.

She had dropped the urn...

And the look on her face was nothing like he'd ever seen before: her gray eyes were impossibly wide on him, her skin paler than usual.

He stared back at her blankly, still clearing his head.

Then he groaned, and tested the movement in his fingers before making the effort to sit up—

She cowered back.

Her hand flew up to her sides, with her fingers spread, poised, and ready at any moment, to blast him with her magic.

Glaring at her under a tightening brow, Loki pushed himself onto his elbow, before hoisting himself up onto his knees. He still felt a bit dizzy and queasy. But inside, his blood was boiling—full of rage.

"You...insufferable..._wench!_" he growled gutturally. "What is _wrong _with you!?"

"What is wrong with _me...?_" she shot back, her eyes looking him up and down.

He lifted a pointed finger at her.

"_I'm_ not the one who decided to concoct a potion that very nearly _poisoned_ me to death!"

"Well, _I'm_ not the one with the blue skin...or the red eyes."

His breath caught.

"What...?" he whispered, slowly glancing his eyes down...

To his hands...

Immediately, his insides squirmed.

His hands were _blue._

_No..._

He shook his head, and frantically searched the room. His blurring gaze caught movement—his fractured reflection in the coppery surface of the urn across the floor.

Crawling over and grabbing it, he pulled it up to his eyes, and gasped.

His skin was now, indeed, an icy shade of blue.

Inside, he grew sicker and sicker, as his eyes flew all over the savage Jotun birthmarks that now marked his forehead, cheeks, and the center of his lips.

His hands were now trembling, frost spreading across the copper urn from his fingers. And he could not recognize his own eyes; they were no longer green, or even gray.

They were red—red as blood.

His bowels lurched.

Bile rushing up his throat...

This time, he could not keep it down.

With eyes shut, he bent over and retched—emptying his stomach—straight into the urn.

He wanted to put up an illusion for himself, and disappear. He didn't want to have to look at her, after she had seen him like _this_...

After he had finished, he felt significantly less sick. His face was still inside the urn, when he shivered, and his body temperature fluctuated again.

When he lowered the bowl, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, he saw that his hands were no longer blue. They had returned to normal.

He shoved the urn aside, and sighed. Amora clopped a step closer to him.

"Care to explain to me...what I just saw?" she demanded.

Loki snapped his head up, and glared.

"That accursed recipe of yours..." he seethed. "Let me see it!"

Her hands lowered into fists, before she turned round and stomped away, toward the desk to retrieve the book.

As she reached for it, and returned with it, her eyes never left him, watching his every move. And when she trotted up to him, she hesitated a moment before handing him the book.

He reached out to take it, and the instant his fingers touched the book's edge, she let go of it.

He fumbled to catch it. Shooting her a glare, he opened it in his lap and tore through its pages, having to locate the recipe again.

Once he had found it, he scanned down the pages until his eyes landed on a footnote, written in a clear hand, and in large enough runes that she shouldn't have overlooked it. As he read across the line, his eyes widened further and further, blood boiling with pure rage.

"That...wasn't the curse's fault, you idiotic _cur!_" he snarled, pointing to the page. "The recipe _clearly_ states: 'Extremely toxic and possibly _fatal_ if ingested by those of Skullish, Drawven...or Jotun descent!'"

He threw the book across the room. Pages riffled as it hit the floor.

Amora's fingers flinched, spreading at her sides.

"But why should any of that matter...?" she questioned.

"Because _I_ am of Jotun descent!" he spat. "I'm a _frost giant!_"

Her eyes flew wide.

Then she retreated half a step, shaking her head.

"A frost giant...?" she whispered hollowly. "But...how? How is that even possible?"

"Believe me," he muttered, lowering his voice. "I wish _I_ knew..."

"So..." Her gaze darkened. "You are not a son of Odin."

He sighed, and slowly shook his head.

"I am the son...of his worst enemy."

She drew in a gasp. Then her eyes darkened once more, her hands slowly curling into fists.

"The frost giants...murdered my father in battle," she told him, in a tight whisper. "He never returned from the war in Jotunheim. My mother could never care for the two of us, by herself. She soon went mad...dying herself, soon thereafter."

Loki barely breathed, as Amora's distant, cold again, landed on him again.

"It's a good thing you kept this from me, though," she admitted, starting to smirk. "Else I probably would have let the poison take you."

He went cold, as he slowly internalized her statement.

Drawing in a shallow breath, it suddenly dawned on him.

"You don't care what happens to me. You don't care if I live or if I die."

Her eyes considered him.

"No," she said plainly. "I don't. I only care about me. And my sister."

His gut twisted.

He knew, staring into her cold, unfeeling eyes, that she absolutely meant it—there was no lie.

She did not care, if he lived or died—or suffered something far worse.

It switched, something deep within him.

He inhaled deeply, setting his jaw—his own gaze turning cold, and unfeeling.

"Fine..." he hissed, as he gradually rose to one knee. Drawing from his magic, he remained poised as he steadily stood up, without teetering. "You want to see your sister again?"

She didn't reply, her face turning neutral.

He went on, lowly:

"If, by tomorrow...you do not have the cure ready for me...then you shall never again see your precious sister." He let that sink in. "It'll be the axe for her. And our business, Amora, will be through."

"Tomorrow? Are-are you insane?" she stammered. "But...that's not enough time! How am I supposed to get anything done? I would need more time—"

"We don't _have_ more time!" he blurted out. "This is it! My patience has worn thin. This is where the games end."

"But...what if there _is_ no cure?" she asked. "How am I supposed to provide a solution then?"

"You'll find it," he strode towards her. "I believe you have it in you."

Her eyes flashed, her jaw turning rigid.

Slowing down, he stopped a foot in front of her, and lifted a finger between their faces. She didn't flinch or cower this time.

"One day," he spoke in a steely tone, laying down his ultimatum: "If you bring me the cure, by midnight tomorrow...your sister lives. If you do not...then she dies."

Lowering his hand, he switched his gaze to the trickling sands in the hourglass on the desk.

"Hurry, Amora. Your time is running short."

VVV

_To be continued!_

_ Please leave a review if you enjoyed! I always love hearing your thoughts, and do my best to reply to you all._

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_ Until next time!_


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